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A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK 



BY 

FRANCES NOTLEW 



og >>s ; -3 . \N r ^So5-CX 



^ 




- 

i 

New York 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

713 Broadway 

1882 




Copyright, 1882, 
By E. P. DUTTON & CO. 



n 



THE LIBRARY 
OF CONGRESS 

WASHIN GTON 



#1 



Press of 

J. J. Little & Co., 

jo Astor Place, N. Y. 



St. yohnland 

Stereotype Foundry, 

Suffolk Co., N. Y. 



TO 

N. J. W. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAP. PAGE 

I. FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE I 

II. THE RHINE 12 

III. HEIDELBERG 2 2 

IV. BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG 33 

V. FROM GENEVA TO GENOA 42 

VI. FROM GENOA TO ROME 52 

VII. THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM 65 

VIII. THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER'S 'J J 

IX. BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. ST. PETER'S 

IN MONTORIO 89 

X. ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETER'S IO3 

XI. FROM ROME TO PALERMO I 1 3 

XII. PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL . . . 1 26 
XIII. PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MON- 

REALE I39 

XIV. MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE 1 53 

XV. THE MARINA. GARIBALDl's OCCUPATION OF THE 

CITY l66 

XVI. POMPEII TO SORRENTO 1 77 

XVII. SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO . . . . 1 88 

XVIII. CAPRI AND NAPLES I99 

XIX. IN AND ABOUT NAPLES 2IO 

XX. ROMAN CARNIVAL, TRAJAN'S FORUM, AND THE 

AVENTINE 222 



VI CONTENTS. 

CHAP. PAGE 

XXI. APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT THE WALLS . 235 
XXII. BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES, VIA SALARIA AND 

THE VATICAN 248 

XXIII. VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAM A, RAPHAEL AND SAN 

OXOFRIO 262 

XXIV. THE COLONNA, ROSPIGLIOSE, AND STA. MARIA MAG- 

GIORE 278 

XXV. TIVOLI 288 

XXVI. FROM ROME TO FLORENCE 294 

XXVII. PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE . . . 308 

XXVIII. THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTO'S TOWER, SAN MARCO 

AND SAN LORENZO 32O 

XXIX. FLORENCE TO VENICE 334 

XXX. ST. MARK'S, THE DUCAL PALACE, AND TORCELLO . 348 
XXXI. THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES, AND THE 

LIDO 363 



A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 



»*oo<» 



I. 

FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 

Our voyage across the sea had the usual accom- 
paniments of the picturesque and the commonplace; 
the pathetic and the dramatic, the miseries of being 
forced to stay " below," and the calm delights of the 
afterward, when one lies on deck with his face toward 
heaven and is content. We were blessed with the 
most delightful weather imaginable during the whole 
three thousand and odd miles of ocean travel, and 
without accident, or even threat of impending peril, 
were landed at Bremenhaven. For one, I was glad 
to put my foot once more upon the firm earth; I 
could have fallen prostrate and kissed the brilliant 
green — the smiling -shore that welcomed us. 

A few miles by railway brought us to the city 
of Bremen. Coming from the "new world," ho>« 
strange to us were the oldness, the completeness, 
the general utilization of all possibilities; no neg- 



2 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

lected lands, no wild, tangled undergrowth, no fences 
nor other enclosures, only miles upon miles of the 
most luxuriant cultivation, — meadows, groves and 
gardens. 

In the city there was less strangeness: we felt 
the influence of an energetic activity, which, as 
with us, was visible in the faces and manners of 
the people. The Public Promenades that skirt the 
alt-city side of the Weser are delightful; strolling 
through them we had glimpses of vine-trellised cot- 
tages and stately residences on the opposite bank, 
and of the loveliest pictures of wood and water. 

The streets of Bremen seemed marvellously clean, 
notwithstanding the common impression that Ger- 
man proclivities do not tend to such results. The 
private houses, however old they may be, have a 
newish look, which is toned by dark leaved climb- 
ers, and brightened with flowers. Flowers! they are 
everywhere — in the yards, the balconies, the win- 
dows, in little patches by the wayside — wherever 
there is the smallest space or chance for them. The 
shops are much like our own, perhaps a little soberer 
of aspect, but it would be pleasant if we could find 
at home a little more of the courtesy and friendli- 
ness of manner that we met with among the Bremen 
shopkeepers. We bought a few kreuzer's worth of 
sundries, and were rewarded by such an "I thank 



FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 



you very much," aud u Good day," that we opened 
our eyes wide, and wondered what it all meant. 

The journey to Cologne occupied the whole of the 
following day and part of the night; for Schnellzug 
does not mean in Germany what " Lightning Ex- 
press " does, between New York and Boston. There 
was full compensation, however, for the slowness, 
in the comfort of the deep-cushioned, broad-win- 
dowed carriages, and the better view of the coun- 
try, which as we proceeded unrolled its beautiful 
panorama — valley plains, bright with the sparkle 
and gleam of crystal streams, and summer promises 
of bountiful harvest gatherings ; wooded slopes, shad- 
owy and dark, and tempting in suggestions of cozy 
nooks and cool retreats; occasionally a distant sum- 
mit, out of whose green -gray a real castle rose 
against the delicate blue of the sky; pleasant villa- 
ges, with variegated colors and church spires pointed 
with light; and last, but not altogether least, the 
handsome railway stations. These belong to the 
Government; consequently, the buildings are costly; 
the windows are gay with flowers; there are beau- 
tiful gardens and fine old trees; and the officials 
wear navy blue and gold bands, as well as a quiet, 
attentive courtesy. 

The windows of our hotel look out upon the Heu- 
marht. Early this morning while we were yet on 



4: A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the dream-land side of waking, the music of bells 
suddenly filled the air, then came a tapping as of 
light hammers, and again merry peals rang out, 
followed by the statelier, grander notes of a Ho- 
sanna. Looking into the square, there was the so- 
lution of the matter. From strong, heavy frame- 
works, were suspended bells of various sizes, to 
undergo the important process of " testing." They 
were struck with immense hammers — not light ones, 
as had seemed to us, — still only the slightest touch 
is required to reveal any fault. When the bells had 
been pronounced true, the enthusiasm of the gath- 
ered crowd broke out ; handkerchiefs and hats waved, 
and cheers made the air jubilant. I felt my once 
rapturous delight in bells revive, when the notes of 
a grand reveille burst forth, brilliant as the sudden 
glories of a sunrise, the splendor and intent of which 
— the awakening of the whole earth — they herald 
and interpret. This set of chimes is for a cathedral; 
and henceforth, it will have an individual life, will 
sound alarms, ring merry marriage peals, and an- 
nounce glad Easter morns; will, perchance, ring out 
old generations and ring in new, till in the future of 
the centuries it shall become a set of "Ancient Bells." 
There is much in Cologne to interest the traveller. 
The museum contains extensive collections of coins, 
gems, specimens of nearly all forms of mediaeval art, 



FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 

also paintings of the different schools of the Rhine 
Provinces; and there are churches and other build- 
ings, many of which date from the Roman period, 
and mark important epochs in history. Ancient 
sites and lines are clearly defined and well pre- 
served, and are shown with pride, as evidences of 
the Imperial origin of the city. The remains of the 
town wall are most interesting and wonderful. Evi- 
dently it was of immense strength; it had broad, 
deep fosses, and handsome, massive gates — one of 
the gateways, with its towers, is still nearly entire. 
On the entablature of the portico of the Rathhaus, 
there is a Latin inscription which expresses the grat- 
itude of the city of Cologne to Julius Csesar, Augus- 
tus, Agrippa, and Constantine. This inscription led 
our thoughts backward to Imperial days, made us 
realize the once actual presence of Cgesar and Con- 
stantine in this part of the great Empire, and re- 
newed our interest in Roman history and antiquities. 
Within the Rathhaus we were shown the great au- 
dience and banqueting hall of the Roman kings, or 
their representatives, and the very throne from which 
they issued their royal mandates. We were also 
shown some remains of ancient prisons, with deep 
underground cells, full of centuries of gloom and 
shadows of horror. 

In the churches one might very naturally fall into 



O A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the error of supposing that relic-worship had its ori- 
gin in Cologne, so great is the number of bones of 
saints and martyrs collected and carefully preserved 
in them. In Saint Ursula, they are even built into 
the walls and pavements — those for which there was 
not room in the cases which are arranged around 
the sides of the church. According to the legend, 
Saint Ursula was an English princess, who, return- 
ing from a pilgrimage to Rome, suffered martyrdom, 
together with her eleven thousand virgin attendants, 
on the very spot which the church now occu- 
pies; the necessity of using every available place is 
evident, for none of the bones could be allowed to 
go astray. Her lover must have also made the pil- 
grimage with her, for his skull lies beside hers upon 
the altar of the Saint's chapel. Some learned doctor 
has ventured to throw suspicion upon the number of 
virgin attendants, by discovering and making known 
that many of the bones never belonged to human, 
but to animal life. 

Another, and to us much more interesting, church, 
is that of St. Jerome, consecrated to the memory of 
the martyrs of the Theban legion, who perished dur- 
ing the reign of Diocletian; their leaders, Gregory 
and Jerome, became, and still are, the patron saints 
of Cologne. The church was founded in the seventh 
century; no part of the ancient structure remains 



FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 



except the nave; but the imagination loves to link 
itself to the traditional and old, and always carries 
us back to the foundation of a building; in tJiat, we 
find its original spirit and purpose, and from it, 
trace the interwoven thought and feeling of its dif- 
ferent epochs, down to its present. 

But the crowning interest, the one to which every 
other yields, and the glory and marvel of which are 
inexhaustible, is the great Cathedral. Entering it 
by the tower front, through the vestibule, we had 
at the first glance, an unobstructed view of the 
whole vast interior. Jhe overpowering sense of the 
immensity of size and the immensity of space, com- 
ing so suddenly upon us, for a time nearly para- 
lyzed our. receptivities, and shut out all other im- 
pressions. When we could look up at the massively 
clustered columns, the grand harmonious forms of the 
decorations, and further — far up — to the sombre rich- 
ness and vaulted mysteries of the roof, all toned by 
the subdued light which streamed in through the 
stained-glass windows, we felt the astonishing awe- 
inspiring, up-lifting influence of the place, the sol- 
emnizing and sublime grandeur, which is the dis- 
tinctive and prevailing characteristic of the Gothic; 
and which, if anything in a material structure can, 
raises the soul heavenward, and leads to the con- 
templation and worship of Him who is above all. 



8 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. 

To us, a white-robed throng sweeping through the 
fathomless heights, or the sound of golden harps 
tuned to heavenly strains, would have caused scarce- 
ly an added rapture. 

It is not en regie to admire the new stained-glass 
windows manufactured at Munich; but to me, wholly 
untaught in the art, they were revelations of the 
wonders of color; and certainly they unfold the 
sacred story faithfully and effectively, in the loveli- 
est outlines, from the Infant Saviour to the Kisen 
Lord. "The worship of the Magi" is perhaps the 
finest. The subject allows great breadth of compo- 
sition, and a striking variety and combination of 
color. The crimsons and purples are especially bril- 
liant, but are softened and toned by the neutrals of 
the background, while they are in no wise impover- 
ished by them ; and surely the Mary and the angels 
are as pure and beautiful creations as mortal thought 
can conceive. Others of our party admired the win- 
dows of 1508 to the entire disparagement of the new. 
The old ones have, it is true, that rich, mellow blend- 
ableness of tint which only time can give; particu- 
larly those in the choir, representing the Kings of 
Israel. In all the old windows the pieces of glass 
are so small that the lines and colors are constantly 
interrupted, and this, to me, mars the beauty of their 
general effect. 



FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 9 

In the chapel of the Three Kings repose what re- 
mains of the bones of the Magi, after having wan- 
dered from Constantinople to Milan, and from Milan 
to Cologne. They are covered with ornaments of 
gold and so-called jewels, and are kept in richly dec- 
orated silver caskets. The names of the Wise Men 
— Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar, — written in pre- 
cious stones, and surrounded by a diadem, are sus- 
pended over the altar of the shrine. These bones 
have been a gold-mine for the Cathedral, but the 
income from them is not so great as formerly. 

A priest with shaven crown, sandaled feet, and a 
large crucifix hanging from his girdle, acted as our 
guide. He discoursed long and with seeming in- 
terest, in regard to the authenticity of the relics, 
and the value of the treasures of the Cathedral. 
When he had finished, I wanted to ask him how 
much he believed of it all — if really he had ever 
heard of the French occupancy, and the substitution 
of glass imitations for many of the gems; also that 
some of the relics he had spoken of, disappeared at 
the same time. 

The proportions of the Cathedral are so harmoni- 
ous, and the space so unbroken, that seen from below 
and as a whole, we get no idea of actual measure- 
ments; this is obtained only when we ascend to the 
inner gallery of the choir, and look down to the 



10 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

pavement, or across to the arches of the aisles 
Looking down upon a level, or across to a given 
point, the eye is arrested suddenly, and an idea of 
measurements, and a comparison of distances, are at 
once suggested. 

We knew that the building was begun in the thir- 
teenth century ; but we were not aware that so much 
of the work was of recent date. The central tower is 
of iron, its ascent through the narrow, tortuous pas- 
sages of the south front is difficult and toilsome, but 
once accomplished, the reward is magnificent. I have 
no idea of the actual height, but know that, as we ap- 
proached the Cathedral from below, the pinnacles of 
the south portal were almost invisibly above us, and 
that from the outer gallery, they were quite as invisi- 
bly below. The view from the tower is a picture, 
which once seen, remains in one's memory for a life- 
time. Beneath, lies the city with its billowy-like sea 
of houses, and its ebb and flow tide of human life; 
near, on the opposite bank, is Deutz, with gray glit- 
tering spires and a summer beauty of riverside ter- 
races and dark tinted foliage; into the distant per- 
spective, the Ehine stretches its lovely gleaming and 
graceful sinuosities, and the plain its luxuriant green 
and dancing sunshine and shadows ; while the far-off 
Siebengebirge, with their singularly beautiful forms 
of rocky peaks and wooded cones, vary the long un- 



FROM NEW YORK TO COLOGNE. 11 

dulating lines of the horizon. We lingered till the 
sun had reached the western sky, and crowned with 
his royal splendors the mountain heights. Like one 
of old, we veiled our eyes before the shining glory, 
and would fain have taken off our shoes, lest the 
place where we stood were holy! 

The architectural lines and forms of the exterior 
of the Cathedral are most noble and imposing. The 
representative figures which adorn the portals are 
numerous, and many are of great beauty. Each 
seems to have its own language, its own definite 
revelation, and, in its' place, to fill out its chapter 
in the great history of Christianity. How useless to 
attempt to describe the details of such a structure; 
since they cannot produce the effect of the actual 
combinations — the wrought-out thought of those who 
plan and build. These are the building's own — the 
soul of it, and not transferable. 

Standing in the Domplatz, I lifted my eyes to the 
piled-up wonder — the grand anthem in stone! and 
was it a material, or a something loftier, sublimer, 
a spiritual * grandeur that pervaded and seemed to 
transfigure it ! 



II. 



THE RHINE. 



There are few tourists who do not know the Rhine ; 
and fewer who are not familiar with the musical 
lyrics and ballads that tell its legends and celebrate 
its charms. Who has not heard the strange, sweet 
singing of Heine's 

"Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten, 
Dass ich so traurig bin; 
Em Marchen aus alten Zeiten, 
Das kommt mir nicht aus den Sinn;" 

or Von Eichendorff's 

"Kiihle auf dem schbnen Eheine 
Fuhren wir vereinte Brlider, 
Tranken von dem gold'nen Weine, 
Singend gute deutsche Lieder " ? 

From the tower of the Cathedral of Cologne, I had 
beheld its lovely gleaming through the sunset's va- 
pory purple ; and in the visions of a wakeful night, 



THE RHINE. 13 

had seen it coming down the beautiful valley regally 
arrayed, — robes dyed in the loyal blood of the hills, 
floating train fringed with harvest grains, the golden 
hair held by a golden comb, and the fair brow and 
temples crowned with clustering grapes. 

We went on board the steamer at six o'clock a. m. 
The morning was as beautiful as lingering dews and 
the brightness of an unclouded sky could make it; so 
fresh and clear, that it was suggestive of Thorwald- 
sen's thought of Morning, the maiden who through 
the valleys and over the hill-slopes goes, and with 
the fanning of her white wings drives away the 
mists, and scatters flowers and the fragrance of Eden. 

" Here are good seats, the very best," said Bella, 
as we passed beneath the red and blue awning that 
shaded the after-deck. In a few moments we and 
our belongings were bestowed there, and with "Ha- 
lenza's Panorama" spread out before us, that we 
might know " which was which," we yielded our- 
selves to the pleasant joys of expectancy. But alas! 
these were of short duration ; once afloat, the silver 
gleaming and the gorgeous beauty were nowhere to 
be seen ; the only remarkable thing visible was the 
dark filthiness of the water, and that teas indeed re- 
markable, while the shores were flat and uninter- 
esting, not in the least as we had fancied them. 
Was it that we had not brought an Uhland and 



14 A NEW TREAD IN AX OLD TRACK. 

a flasclie of Rudesheimer, as some one recommends 
all Rhine travellers to do ? 

Suddenly Bella read from " Halenza's Notes" — "At 
Bonn the real beauty of the Rhine begins to present 
itself." Then we remembered that it would naturally 
be disturbed, and put on soberer garments and less 
festive airs, preparatory to entering the low sand- 
lands of Holland. And as if to atone for the pains of 
a seemingly threatened disappointment, and to har- 
monize our thoughts and sensibilities, a party of 
German musicians on board began to play Bee- 
thoven's " Pastoral Symphony." The whispering of 
trees, the singing of birds, the hunter's horn, the 
shepherdess' song, the babbling of brooks over pebbly 
beds, mingling with the rhythm of the swiftly flow- 
ing waters, were a fitting introduction to the Sie- 
bengebirge, seen in a silvery semi-transparent light, 
and to the domes and lofty nriinster tower of Bonn, 
the birthplace of the master composer. Bonn, as 
seen from the steamer, lies in a wilderness of shade, 
allowing only a glimpse of its University buildings, 
and the grounds of the "Alte Zoll." As we pro- 
ceeded, the Drachenfels, with their picturesque ruin, 
rose nearly a thousand feet on the other side. "We 
could discern, about half way up, the mouth of the 
cavern where the brave Siegfried sought and slew 
the dragon. The stone which was first used in the 



THE RHINE. - 15 - 

building of the Cathedral of Cologne, was taken from 
the Drachenfels, but it proved not durable and was 
superseded by that from the quarry of Andernach. 
After the Drachenfels, the stream, following the line 
of the wooded heights, made a more graceful sweep, 
and smiled with the blooming brightness of the 
morning. Its surface, shining in the glowing sun, 
took on changeful hues; lights and shadows played 
upon it, reproducing masses of foliage, pleasant vil- 
lages, and tall mountain forms. The vineyards, with 
lustrous foliage and abundant promises of wine pur- 
ple fruitage, covered with rich luxuriance the hill- 
sides, suggesting the intoxicating life of the Rhine- 
land; making us recognize the real charms of the 
river, and understand why it is so idealized and glo- 
rified, so radiant and aureoled to all dreamers and 
lovers of dreams. 

The castle of Rolandseck almost overhangs the 
river, while the shadow of the island and convent 
of Nonnenwerth lay directly in our path. The legend 
of Roland and Hildegiinde belongs to both castle and 
convent, and will invest them with interest so long 
as there are patient maidens to watch and wait and 
brave knights to return, suffer, and "smile no more." 

The next castle was that of Argenfels, now re- 
stored and occupied. It is one of the stateliest on 
the river, with pointed towers and turrets, and has 



16 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the solidity and the air of security which belong to 
feudal rather than modern days. 

Kheineck is also restored, indeed only one tower 
of the old castle remains. It has bright gardens and 
tastefully arranged grounds, which come down quite 
to the water's edge. It forms the boundary between 
the upper and lower districts of the Khine Provinces, 
and separates very distinct dialects. At the landing 
some pretty peasant girls came on board. They 
wore black bodices and silver chains, they had silver 
arrowheads in their black hair, and their eyes were 
a bluish hazel, not the shadows of the vineyards, 
but of the forests, for they belonged to the Odenwald. 

Most interesting to us was the quiet, picturesque 
town of Andernach, with its bells always ringing, 
its old walls, its tall watch-tower, and the fact that 
it was a frontier fortress in Imperial days. The 
tower has its tender legend, that of its once keeper 
and his wife, and their beautiful daughter — "dead 
with rosemary in her hands." There is also another 
story, — that of the man with a lantern, who in the 
night-time mended the churchyard gate, and the 
leaky roofs and boats of the poor of Andernach. 

There is not a scJdoss or berg of the Rhine valley 
that has not its tale, its brave knight and peerless 
maiden ; not a village but has its Frau Martha, with 
her Madonna and Christ story. Something of his- 



THE RHINE. 17 

tory, but much more of fiction belongs to all. Out 
of the dismantled towers, ivy-covered arches, frown- 
ing battlements, corn and wine growing hills, and 
charming villages, Uhland and Schiller, and such 
as they, have coined the richest treasures of rhythmic 
and romantic literature. They have garlanded the 
Rhine with every flower of poetic imagery, and 
every form of lover-like enthusiasm,, until mistress 
and queen have seemingly become legitimatized 
titles. 

As we approached Coblenz, the beautiful Mosel, 
sometimes called the " Bride of the Rhine," greeted 
the well-beloved with its wealth of sunlight glory 
and submerged treasures of Roman antiquities. If 
one listened, he might hear the echoes of centuries 
long gone, the story of a Celtic civilization more an- 
cient than the Roman, the invasions of Vandals who 
stained with blood the blossoming hillsides, and the 
tread of conquerors, such as Cgesar and Constantine. 

From the steamer one sees the handsome mod- 
ern buildings of Coblenz, the fine bridge that spans 
the river, and the bridge of boats, four hundred and 
seventy feet long, which connects the city with 
Ehrenbreitstein. The latter place, " the Gibraltar 
of the Rhine," so renowned for its strength during 
the middle ages, but finally taken by the French 
in 1799, and destroyed by them in 1811, has been 



18 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

restored and fortified since it came into the posses- 
sion of Prussia. It is rightly named, for certainly 
it has sufficiently honorable distinctions; and from 
below, one can see only the broad face of the rock 
rising perpendicularly four hundred feet above the 
water level. 

Of the restored castles, that of Stolzenfels is the 
grandest and most imposing. It belongs to the 
crown of Prussia, and it was to be inferred that 
it was occupied by some of the royal family, for 
Prussian flags were floating from its towers. 

Beyond Boppard, was the convent of Bornhofen, 
above which rise the castles of Sternenberg and 
Liebenstein, and call to mind the legend of the 
two brothers, who unfortunately loved the same 
maiden. But it would be quite useless to attempt 
to mention even all the ruins and villages which 
crown the heights and dot the sunny slopes, or 
nestle within the soft hollows of the mountains 
that enclose the river. 

At Saint Goar we passed under the rocks of the 
Lorlei. We did not see the beautiful Jungfyau, but 
we saw the place where she used to sit, A pistol 
was fired while we were under the rock, that we 
might hear the remarkable echo; and surely the 
report of the pistol was repeated many times, but 
I heard one gentleman say to another, "It is not 



THE RHINE. 19 

the genuine — the wonderful echo; that cannot be 
heard on the steamer." 

We had been promised to reach Bingen at three 
o'clock p. iL ; alas for him who trusts to promises, 
while en route. It was toward sunset when we 
passed the Mouse Tower, in which, during a fam- 
ine, the wicked Bishop Hatto hid his grain, and, 
lest the people might find it, shut himself up there 
to keep watch, the result being that the mice ate 
the grain and the Bishop too. We were delayed 
at Bingen, because many passengers went ashore 
there; when we left, the sun had disappeared be- 
hind the castle-crested hills, and the night had fal- 
len moonless and dark about us, so that from Bingen 
to Mayence, we saw nothing. Some English ladies, 
with whom we had entered into conversation, and 
who had learned from us that we wished to stop 
at a German hotel, invited us to join our forces 
to theirs. They were delicate looking, and one ap- 
peared to be a confirmed invalid, but when we ar- 
rived at Mayence, we found she was not. She 
wanted no carriage, and rang all the changes possi- 
ble upon "good-for-nothings" and "vagabond" 
hackdrivers, in good gutteral German, too, such 
as they could understand. I ventured to protest, 
suggesting that we did not know the way. "No 
matter, follow the luggage and you cannot go 



20 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

astray," replied she; so follow the luggage we did, 
and after a long time, with such minor tribulations 
as losing sight of it at every other turn, etc., fi- 
nally reached this " Rheinischer Hof," — and genuine 
Rheinisch it is. At dinner, it took me some time 
to find out that the beef teas beef, so disguised and 
lost to taste was it in its sea of sauce. Everything 
about the house is strange; there are no bells, so 
a small boy is constantly running hither and thither 
answering imaginary calls, but no real ones; if a 
guest w y ants anything he must go to "the office" 
himself. We are either in the fifth or sixth story; 
this may seem a singular uncertainty, but I should 
like to have one look into the court and see if he 
could get at a certainty, so many and irregular are 
the different stories. The floor of our room is red 
tile, there is a bit of carpet before the bed, and 
the furniture is — imposing; it must have been built 
in the room, for it is too ponderous to have been 
brought up from the lower regions. At the first 
glance, there was such a vast, huge, doleful ex- 
pression in everything, that a certain timidity — fear 
of ghosts or something worse — came over me; but 
when my eye fell on the lighted bougie at the bedside, 
fear succumbed to amusement; all its suggestions 
were satirical. Standing on a tall table, and hav- 
ing not less than three feet of its own height, it 



THE RHINE. 21 

reached nearly to the top of the high bed-posts; 
and it had a circumference proportionate to its 
height; yet its blaze was only the faintest, ghostli- 
est^ glimmer possible. This being a Catholic coun- 
try, Bella maintains that the bougie is a provision 
peculiar to hotels in which there are no bells. 
Should one make his mortal exit in the night 
time, he would have a light for his initial purga- 
torial explorations ; it burns so slowly that it would 
surely last long enough, despite his having been 
something of a sinner. t How to put out the lofty 
little twinkle is the present puzzle for our wits. 



III. 

HEIDELBERG. 

Heidelberg is the one place which has always had 
for us the strongest attractions; even now, as I write 
the word, there is the old, familiar, joyous thrill of 
long ago, when Bella and I talked of coming here 
to study. Shut in as the city is by great hills, 
with an air of sweet contentful quiet, and every 
advantage for superior instruction, there could hard- 
ly be found a better place for the student either of 
nature or letters; for here beauty and learning have 
met and embraced each other. Just now, every- 
thing wears the rich loveliness of mature summer; 
the foliage is dark and lustrous; the pale colors of 
the earlier blossoms have been exchanged for those 
of more brilliant hues; and the atmospheric effects 
have lost their clear blue in a misty, dreamy gray 
and purple. Our parlor looks out upon the "An- 
lage," bright with the scarlet of salvias and the 
streaked crimson of hollyhocks; there are pansies 



HEIDELBERG. 23 

too, and sweet-scented columbines and marjoram. 
Across all this bloom are the hills, with their cot- 
tages and villas, beautiful gardens, and trees cen- 
turies old; and on the balconies and terraces are 
groups of ladies and gentlemen, and pretty children 
in white frocks and gay scarfs, looking down upon 
us, or over us toward the sunset. 

On the evening of our arrival, there was to be an 
illumination of the castle; and long before the ap- 
pointed hour, all the world, on foot or in carriages, 
was hurrying to the other side of the river. We 
were so fortunate as to secure an excellent position 
directly opposite the castle. The different societies 
of university students had been spending the day on 
the mountains, and the illumination was to be the 
finis of their fiesta. As soon as it was dark, lights ap- 
peared at various points along the line of the nearest 
heights, indicating the localities of the different en- 
campments; and at nine o'clock, the descent began 
in long orderly files. It was very beautiful ; the bril- 
liant lines of torchlights one moment interrupted, or 
broken into a thousand star-like twinklings; the next, 
shining in long, clear, steady undulations; now weav- 
ing themselves into fiery garlands under the guid- 
ance of a frolicking hand, then sending up tall, 
flaming shoots projected by some sudden breeze; 
and all this sparkle and glow, this fire and flame, 



24 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

moving, winding, creeping down the mountain's 
side to the river-bank. Thence the societies, in 
separate bodies, took up the line of march for their 
respective rendezvous. One company passed near 
our carriage, and, judging from appearances, one 
could easily believe that they had had their full share 
of the five hundred bottles of wine, which it is said 
the students consume on such days. The scene was 
splendid while they were crossing the bridge, as a 
flood of light thrown upon them revealed their silver 
helmets, the gold and scarlet of their uniforms, and 
the steely brightness of-their bayonets. 

The closing of the gate after them was the signal 
for the illumination. Suddenly, and as if by magic, 
the castle became visible — stood forth clearly defined 
from the darkness, warm and glowing, in a soft rose 
light. Then there was an intensifying of the illumi- 
nating power, and the grounds could be seen, the 
lawns and terraces dotted with masses of foliage and 
broken by intersecting avenues, all tinted deeper and 
deeper as they shaded off into shadow and the night 
beyond. Figures moving hither and thither gave 
life and seeming reality to the whole. The archi- 
tectural forms were so distinct and so complete, that 
we who had not seen the castle before, obtained some 
idea of its wonderful and impressive grandeur. 

When the illumination was at its brightest, a 



HEIDELBERG. 25 

small steamer, having in tow some twenty or thirty 
row-boats, filled with the students that were unable 
to march with their companies, came slowly down 
the river, with flags and pennons floating from eveiy 
quarter, and a band playing a favorite melody of the 
students' "Rammer's Bach." The row-boats were 
lighted with a variety of soft-toned but strong tints, 
which, together with the rollicking, picturesque 
groups on board, were reflected in the water. 

While they were passing under the bridge, that 
was as suddenly and magically illumined as the 
castle had been — the colors being amber, emerald, 
and dark rose. By their glowing touch, the roughly 
sculptured statues fixed at regular intervals along its 
sides were wonderfully transformed and beautified; 
while the effect on the lines and forms of the. heavy 
arches was marvellous, changing them into shapes 
of grace and beauty. The shops and gardens along 
the river-banks were also illumined, every tree and 
arbor had its gay-colored lantern; while from the 
city, fire-balls, Roman-candles, and rockets went 
up in rapid succession. 

When the lights of the illumination began to fade, 
the crowd dispersed. In the west hung heavy, dark 
clouds; but the east was fair, — the moon had risen 
clear and bright. We paid a thaler to have the gate 
reopened for us — for we had lingered longer than the 



26 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

crowd — and rode eastward toward the moonlight. 
Reaching our " Anlage " under the hills, that was 
full of moonlight, and the sweet odors which only 
the dewy night distils. 

One morning a party was made up to visit the 
castle by daylight. We started early — before the 
sun had risen to us under the hill. Wishing to re- 
serve our strength for after use, we took donkeys 
to relieve the fatigues of the ascent. It was my 
first experience in donkey riding, and will be my 
last. The short, stubby motion w r as the most disa- 
greeable possible; and the creature was so small, 
that there seemed danger of losing him from under 
me; — true, the boy might have found him again. 
Safely arrived at the top, I sent the donkey back, 
with receipt in full for like services — present and 
prospective. 

The grand gateway of the castle, with its port- 
cullis and watch tower, recalled the fine, familiar en- 
graving, "Coming of Age in the Olden Time"; this 
might have been the original. Within the court, 
the gendarme furnished us with tickets and a guide. 
To one who has read history, it is impossible to see 
such a grand remnant of the past without in imag- 
ination repeopling its empty chambers with the 
brightest, fairest forms, and listening for the sounds 
of revelry and the stately tread and sweeping purple 



HEIDELBERG. 27 

of royalty. In the audience chamber, a rude stone 
marks the place of the throne. Of the gorgeous and 
magnificent decorations of the great (so-called) with- 
drawing room, nothing is left; there is only the bare, 
walled enclosure, with trees and wild grown shrub- 
bery filling the blank of its desolation. In the room 
said to have been a library, there is a well-preserved 
mantel, of which the carvings are most curious; they 
are floral, their arrangement indicating some sym- 
bolical intention. The banquet halls (of which there 
are several) retain no visible traces of their former 
grandeur, these chief glories of elector and electress 
are shorn of all but legendary splendors. Beneath, 
we found prison labyrinths, deep and dark, and 
seemingly interminable; one of the grimmest and 
gloomiest of the underground dungeons bears the 
name of " Nimmerleer," a striking illustration of 
the cowardice and cruelty that marked the days of 
the Palatinate. Many wonderful things have been 
collected in what is called the armory, but they 
have a suspicious look — that of a gotten-up antiquity ; 
the statues in the chapel, too, evidently have been 
hacked and stained to give them an ancientness 
not their own, and make them harmonize with the 
aged and battered marvels of their surroundings. 
A cask in one of the cellars, known as the " Heidel- 
berg Tun," is surely a wonder, when viewed as a 



28 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

ivine cask. The young people had a dance on the 
top; but it was not after the manner or spirit of 
the olden times. Then, the vintage had just been 
gathered, the Tun filled with its 283,200 bottles of 
wine, and the dancers were gay roisterers, over- 
flowing with the exciting, exhilarating gladness of 
the vintage season. 

The castle is roofless in the older, unrestored 
parts; but the walls are draped with dark ivy and 
white and purple clematis, which makes picturesque 
and beautiful their solemn, time-worn, and storm- 
beaten grandeur, — like the sweet loveliness of child- 
hood caressing and clinging to old age. A portion 
of the Gesprengte Thurm lies in the moat, covered 
with masses of tangled vines and a wild growth of 
many-colored blossoms, while the circular space of 
the tower, some eighty feet in diameter, is filled 
with the shade of lindens, and suggestions of the 
many and terrible sieges which the castle has sus- 
tained. Beneath this tower are long casemated 
passages: — seeing these, it occurred to us to ques- 
tion the guide in regard to the subterranean pas- 
sages which are said to have connected the castle 
with Wolfsbrunnen, and the Abbey of the Heiligen- 
berg, the former of which has been used in the plot 
of a once popular novel. " If they ever existed," 
he replied,' "they have been known only to ghosts 



HEIDELBERG. 29 

for these hundreds of years ; the students are always 
inventing such stories;" and surely, nothing, I think, 
would be too extravagant to be hatched beneath 
their fanciful skull caps. We were shown a deep, 
well-like enclosure, which it is supposed might have 
led down to these passages. Evidently it once en- 
closed a steep, spiral staircase, but probably led to 
some of the deeper, more secret prisons ; or it might 
have been an actual well, supplied with water by 
some underground conduit. 

From the octagonal 'tower at the corner of the 
"Altan" there is a magnificent view: on the one 
hand the mountains out of which flows the Neckar; 
on the other, the town with its shaded squares and 
brown and gray structures, the shining river making 
broad its way to the Rhine, the white road running 
down to Neuenheim, the plain golden with the bearded 
grain waiting the sickle, and the hillsides ruddy with 
ripening vineyards. Above is the Philosopher's 
Walk, and the Heiligenberg, along the summit of 
which runs the famous Bergstrasse, toward, and 
into, the Oldenwald. Descending, we returned to 
the quadrangular court, so curious in carvings, so 
profusely ornamented with relievos and 'statues, that 
it is said to be second only to the Alhambra in rich- 
ness and impressiveness. The architecture of the 
castle is of so many and so widely differing periods 



30 ' A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

that there is little harmony of design or even of 
general effect, The bau built by the Elector Fred- 
erick in honor of his Avife, the daughter of King 
James of England, far surpasses any other in mag- 
nificence. The poor princess would have been much 
happier, had she preferred it and the title of Elec- 
tress, to poverty and the empty title of Queen, 

When we had come into the light and sunshine 
without, we wandered through the grounds, under 
the grand old trees, sitting awhile in one delightful 
spot, and then strolling on and finding another even 
more lovely to our thinking than the former, till we 
reached the eastern terrace overlooking the river. 
Here, the music of the band playing in the garden 
of the " Restauration," came only in the sweetest, 
softest strains, and we gazed upon loveliness such 
as our eyes had never before beheld; we drank it in 
with the sunshine, and inhaled the odorous breath 
of the air, " in reveries lost," till the shadows of the 
Heiligenberg began to stretch themselves across the 
valley; then we came down to the river's side, down 
by the arched terraces and winding footpaths, through 
shady avenues to Ludwig's Platz, and past the uni- 
versity buildings, home — the home on the Anlage. 
There we found letters from the home on " the other 
side," which made a fit ending to a most charming 
day. 



HEIDELBERG. 31 

"One cannot stay always in Heidelberg," broke 
•out Bella, one morning, as I, in a dreamy, wistful 
delight, stood looking up the hill, toward the mist- 
crowned Konigsstuhl. "Of course not; who thinks 
of such a thing? But this 'wealth of sound and 
sight,' this glory of hills and clouds — shall we ever 
look upon their like again?" questioned I, regretfully; 
nevertheless, obedient to the law of necessity, gave 
attention to the preparations for departure. Another 
day would have given us an opportunity for one 
more stroll out to Wolfsbrunnen. No future expe- 
riences will ever dim the ineffable, wholly satisfy- 
ing delights of this' our favorite walk; whether we 
took it in the early morning, walking straight into 
the golden flood of a sunrise, or whether, in the late 
afternoon, we went to meet the coming twilight, 
when the shadows were long and strange, and the 
river seemed to reach from hill to hill, and Fraulein 
M e would quite gravely assure us that the en- 
chantress Jetta killed all the wolves. We usually 
went by the upper way, following the windings of a 
foot-path which opens opposite the castle-gate, into 
dark thickets, up and down slopes, flowery and fra- 
grant, under old, broad-branching trees, till we came 
upon the open ridge of hills outside the castle grounds, 
and thence through orchards and fields — with the 
Valley of the Neckar, its village and white spires 



32 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

and terraced vine hills, before us — to the thick, over- 
grown wood, in which the springs or trout lakes lie. 
We always returned by the lower road, under the 
hills, along the riverside. I never attempt to speak 
of the Neckar but I feel the utter poverty of my 
words, their inability to tell anything of its strange, 
sweet, never-to-be-forgotten loveliness. The Khine is 
a grand, gorgeous, mature beauty, whom every one 
knows and lauds, but the Neckar is a coyer maiden, 
dwelling in retirement and carefully chaperoned by 
great, protecting hills. One must seek it to know 
and love it; must live with it to find out its peculiai 
character, its individual wealth and charm. 



IV. 

BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 

Baden Baden offered us some compensation foi 
Heidelberg in the beauty of the " Oel-Bach " valley, 
the hills overhanging it with their castle and ruins, 
and last, but by no means least, its nearness to the 
Black Forest. Our most delightful drive was out 
to the little village of Oberbeurn, three miles from 
Baden, at the entrance of one of the loveliest val- 
leys of the Forest border, and hemmed in by hills 
covered with firs, larches, and pines, whose deli- 
cious perfume the famed spices of Araby's coast could 
scarcely equal. We went to Oberbeurn to meet a 
party of friends, eight young ladies, who had been 
on a three weeks' foot -tour through the Forest. 
They were in excellent spirits, and could have 
walked fifty or a hundred miles further, judging 
from their appearance. The only " lifts by the 
way " that they would acknowledge, were occa- 
sional rides in the dog-carts of the peasants. 



34 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

The season being nearly over, the crowd of fash- 
ionables at Baden was not large ; only a few osten- 
sible health-seekers lingered still, and made their 
"three times daily" visits to the springs, which 
doubtless are quite as efficacious for the diseases 
of the present day as they were for those of the 
Romans. Near the Vapor Baths were found exten- 
sive remains of Roman Baths, some of which are 
still preserved, being built into the walls of the 
former. All the woe-begone, pale faces of despair 
have not disappeared with the duke's license and 
the public gaming tables; they are occasionally seen 
lurking about the springs and the "Conversationliaus" 
But one forgets them, and all they suggest of gam- 
bling in secret places and the terrible consequences 
of the all-absorbing passion, when he has climbed 
up to the palace terrace, and looks down upon the 
beautiful town, cut by the silver sparkle of the 
"Oel," and upon the glories of the valley spread 
out before him, and as the evening mists begin 
to gather beneath the chestnut and the lime trees, 
listens to the vesper bells of the Convent of Lich- 
tenthal. 

W T e left Baden Baden in the early morning; the 
sun had climbed the mountains, but over the val- 
ley hung low clouds, sometimes heavy, sometimes 
light and broken enough to afford glimpses of the 



BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 35 

tipper regions, the sunny heights with their ruins, 
and a clear, heavenly blue sky, which for us, was 
a welcome weather prophecy. The journey to Stras- 
bourg occupied a little more than two hours, and 
was a series of charming views; on our left was 
the Black Forest with its night of pines and firs, 
and groups of mountain forms; a little further, on 
a barren summit, a monument of red sandstone in 
memory of Erwin, the architect of the Cathedral of 
Strasbourg; then a ruin; further a castle on the 
hillside, and now a monument again; — all records 
of great men and notable deeds. 

Long before reaching the city the spire of the 
Cathedral became visible. To our eager, expectant 
desires, the time spent in following the devious ways 
of the railroad encircling it, seemed not a small piece 
of the century; and the fields through which we were 
moving, more like the waves that were an agony to 
Tantalus than the smiling plains of a flower-bloom- 
ing suburb. 

The long open squares on each side of the Cathe- 
dral make it easy to get an unbroken view and a 
definite impression of the whole, to see and feel the 
full effect of its combined Roman and Gothic styles. 
The mid-day sun flooding its architectural forms and 
masses, gave them a peculiar resplendent whiteness, 
suggestive and seemingly symbolical of the highest, 



36 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

most spiritual quality of light, that which, radiating 
from the shining One, floods the streets and temples 
of the holy Jerusalem. The spire, the loftiest in Eu- 
rope, and exquisite in Gothic lines and fancies, rises 
lightly and gracefully toward the celestial blue, till, 
lost in the shimmering golden dazzle of the sun- 
light, it seems to pierce the heavens; and like it, 
the up-lifted, fascinated eye would fain penetrate 
the vaulted vail. The south front is covered with 
statues of saints and martyrs, kings and heroes, 
which add to it not their beauty only, but the ac- 
cumulated history of which they are the represen- 
tatives. They stand in a grand, impressive silence, 
their stony gaze fixed on the processional ages as 
they pass, — stand unmoved amid noise and tumult, 
the clash of arms, the shouts of victory, the cries 
of a nation's anguish, or the exultant throb of a 
nation's joy. 

The interior is strikingly grand and impressive; 
the statues which adorn the lofty columns are at 
first scarcely discernible; the spaces are filled with 
shadows intermingled with a light flickering and 
dubious, which dies out as distance stretches itself 
into the obscurity of the choir, and is lost in a 
background of still deeper darkness. Within the 
r.hoir was the sound of chanting, followed by the 
grand anthem tones of the organ; the late morn- 



BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 37 

ing service was closing in stately, joy-laden harmo- 
nies. It is here, in the choir and crypt, that one 
sees the purely Eomanesque foundation of the struct- 
ure, the primitive beginning, around which the Gothic 
clusters with its miracles of beauty and sublimity. 
We looked into the cold, dark crypt, but saw only 
a stone Bishop lying there with folded hands, pa- 
tiently waiting till the archangel shall summon the 
sleeping dust over which he keeps guard. 

Above the choir and the gloomy, changing shad- 
ows is a stained-glass window, luminous with ra- 
diant groups and angel faces; opposite, far above all 
strange darkness and solemn obscurities, flash the 
crimson and purple splendors of a rose-window, its 
blue and black border deepening and toning all. 
Along the aisles, written on the glowing window 
panes, deep within the arches, one may read all the 
revelations of sacred history; the bright sunlight 
without intensifying the glory of their emerald, and 
violet, and the mystic magnificence of their gold, 
crimsons, and azures. Nowhere have I seen such 
striking contrasts of lights and shadows, as when 
standing in the nave and looking upward; — lights 
and shadows ! within them lies the great mystery 
of expression. Their subtle secrets were known to 
those who built this Cathedral, for in every form and 
effect, it appeals directly to the heart. While the 



38 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

well-defined sentiment of the Cathedral of Cologne 
is evidently that of praise, the up-lifting of the soul 
to its Maker in emotional raptures of wonder and 
thanksgiving; of this of Strasbourg, it is as plainly 
that of prayer. In its grand, solemn vastness, the 
world with its cares and interests, its small anxieties 
and trivial vexations, seems far away, and the over- 
burdened soul instinctively lays its needs, longings, 
and sorrows before the compassionate, always-loving 
Father; pours out the cries of its distress and its 
wants, and asks for help. 

Some of the sculptures in the south aisle were exe- 
cuted by Sabina, the daughter of the architect; they 
are, however, hardly to be compared with those of 
the south portal by the same hand. The latter rep- 
resent the legendary story of the death, burial, and 
resurrection of the Virgin, also the Judgment of Sol- 
omon, with some figures symbolical of Christianity 
and Judaism. All these are as wonderful in grace 
and loveliness, as they are in strength and variety 
of conception. A true poet, she wrote her epics and 
lyrics with mallet and chisel, and so wrote that six 
hundred years have not lessened or marred their 
beauty. Six hundred years has she slept the dream- 
less sleep; yet to-day she lives in the imperishable 
stone, comes dow r n to us through all the ages with 
unlost individuality of thought and eloquence of ex- 



BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 39 

pression. Is not this winning an enviable fame, a 
something akin to immortality? 

The question occurs to me just here, why some of 
my countrywomen, who are so eager to enlarge the 
" sphere of woman's work," do not study architecture 
with a view to making it their profession. As yet I 
know of no one who has done so, or only so far as to 
study sculpture, the mere decorative part of archi- 
tecture. In this direction one noteworthy step has 
been taken within a few years, the result being that 
the portal of one of our church school buildings is 
adorned with a figure of much grace and beauty — a 
symbol in stone of the purest Christian and womanly 
virtues — the work of a lady gifted with genius no 
less than with true artistic and religious feeling. 

Architecture, in the province of its vast designs, 
i. e., the building of churches, cathedrals, and other 
public structures, makes demands upon almost every 
department of mechanics and art; consequently it 
requires the highest intellectual creative gifts, as 
well as years of careful, patient, and laborious study. 
In its nobler achievements, it is the grandest, most 
comprehensive and most enduring of all material 
forms of expression ; that in which a people records 
the most important events of its past and present, 
and shadows forth the hopes of its future. As an 
aesthetic art, it is the culmination of all others, the 



40 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

sublime heaven into which they are lifted by the 
pains and longings of a nation's intellectual and 
spiritual growth. Into this lofty province only the 
most gifted of men or women may venture, those 
whose genius and high ideal aspirations make it 
not a profanation for them to dare to look toward 
the heights of Michael Angelo and his compeers. 
In the nearer province of domestic architecture, 
women may ordinarily find a field broad enough 
for their ready perceptions and clever inventions; 
one in which they may rule supremely if they choose, 
making our dwellings to be, not perhaps joys for- 
ever, but present joys of fitness, beauty, and con- 
venience, architectural poems of home and home-life. 

It is not needful to go to Egypt to see mummies; 
we saw two in one of the chapels of St. Thomas in 
Strasbourg, said to be the bodies of Count Nassau- 
Saarbriicken and his daughter; the Count and Count- 
ess having put off " this mortal coil " some time in 
the sixteenth century. On their faces was the calm- 
ness which the touch of the death angel always 
leaves; his seal set for eternity; but it was a pain- 
fully solemn and severe calmness, as if deprecating 
any disturbance from profane curiosity. 

In the same church is Pigalle's allegorical group 
in memory of Marshal Saxe, the hero of the Flemish 
wars of 1744 to 1748, and great-grandfather of George 



BADEN BADEN AND STRASBOURG. 41 

Sand. In current history, his services to France 
seemed to be overshadowed by his relationship to 
her. The critics render just homage to her genius, 
and, making charity and compassionateness atone 
for all errors, tenderly draw a veil of excuses over 
her life a*nd its principles as written out in her books. 
One would not underrate her admirable gifts or 
literary skill; but it seems not fair that attention 
should be called so persistently to the sweet, music- 
ally flowing rhythm, the -pure and exquisitely tinted 
beauty of her style, and no warning given of the 
baneful poison lurking beneath the music and the 
bloom. 



V. 



FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 

Tarrying for only a day or two in any of the old 
cities of Europe, even the most industrious traveller 
finds little new whereof to write, for the changes 
taking place are mostly of a political character, and 
affect only the general government; consequently do 
not lie near enough the local "surface of things" to 
be patent to the ordinary tourist. Besides, one finds 
that what interests him most is that with which, 
through letters and books, he was most familiar be- 
fore he left home. If he stops in Berne for an hour, 
as we did, he will hasten to the Cathedral to see the 
famous clock and hear the organ, both of which he 
may do if he happen there at midday, and then, hav- 
ing a few minutes more, will climb the terrace op- 
posite the Cathedral, that he may get a view of the 
long range of the Oberland Alps, which, if it be his 
first sight of Alpine wonders, will fill his soul with 
a rare and rapturous delight. Their misty whiteness, 



FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 43 

is it of clouds or of snow? Do they reach up to 
the pearly gates of heaven, or do the heavens, bend- 
ing low, touch the white-crowned encampment, the 
mighty array of mountain ranges? 

Journeying on southward, the views became in- 
creasingly enchanting; each change in the road dis- 
closing new wonders of atmospheric effects and 
mountain splendors; now a range bathed in a soft 
gray or misty blue, now rugged sides aflame with 
hues of amethyst and gold; soon Mont Blanc, the 
mighty monarch, with gleaming diadem and robes 
of dazzling white, rose in the dim distance. Finally, 
after passing through a long tunnel, we came out 
upon the heights above Lausanne, where before us 
lay Lake Leman, a low blue crescent, tremulous in 
a liquid, golden light, the Dent de Modes, the Dent 
du Midi, and the pass into Valais, being on our left, 
and on our right precipitous wooded slopes, beyond 
which was the city of Geneva, under great, shadowy 
mountain shoulders, haloed by the glories of Cha- 
mouny's summits and passes. 

In Geneva our time was short, and there was so 
much to be seen that our party separated, each go- 
ing his own whither; one to the island, which with 
its monument keeps the stained and ill-omened re- 
membrance of Rousseau; one to the famous watch 
manufactories and dealers in wood carvings and 



44 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Alpine agates, while Bella and I, crossing the mag- 
nificent Mont Blanc bridge, strolled through the 
quaint quarters of the old town, and toiled up the 
steep, narrow streets to the Cathedral of St. Peter's, 
a Byzantine structure of the twelfth centu^ , occu- 
pying the site of an ancient temple of Apollo. We 
returned to the hotel along the banks of the Khone, 
past the " foaming rapids " and the supposed site of 
Calvin's house. Those who would make pilgrimages 
to his grave, have to be content with the spirit rather 
than the letter of the undertaking, for nothing is cer 
tain except that he was buried in the cemetery of 
Plain Palais. "The spot," said Pastor Galliton as 
long ago as 1730, to a Scotch Presbyterian, who was 
very anxious to find it, " has been suffered to be 
forgot, it being foreseen that a superstitious Presby- 
terian would one day come and make more stir about 
it than was fit." The present century has tried to 
remedy the intentional forgetfulness of that time, 
by determining upon a place, and putting thereon 
a cube of stone with the name of John Calvin cut 
upon it, but that it is the exact place of his burial 
there is scarcely any probability. Geneva has given 
birth to many whose names are brilliant both in his- 
tory and literature — Neckar, De Saussure, De Can- 
dolle, Sismondi, and others, but her chief glory among 
cities is that, embracing the doctrines of the Refor- 



FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 45 

mation, she early became a model in morals for all 
Europe, and the refuge and battle-ground of many 
eminent reformers. However ill-directed and fruit- 
less may prove the recent labors of the once Carmel- 
ite monk, but always sincere priest of reform in the 
Komish Church, the Alt-Catholic movement, which 
has its stronghold there, surely cannot fail; its en- 
ergies are too deeply seated in the spiritual necessi- 
ties of human progress; its life, vitalized and girded 
with the force of such necessities, must grow and 
bear fruit. 

We came through from Geneva to Marseilles with- 
out stopping, arriving in the early morning; this 
gave us a half day for Marseilles before the train 
would leave by which we were to proceed to Nice. 
In our impatient eagerness to see the marvellous 
blue of the ancient Tyrrhenian Sea, we swallowed 
our breakfasts after the " ail-aboard " fashion of rail- 
way restaurants, and hastened to the quays; there 
it was, beautiful and blue, but so far away ! In the 
foreground there was only bustle and confusion; all 
the nationalities of the globle were there congre- 
gated, Orientals, Greeks, Italians, English, Ameri- 
cans, and natives. Sailors were hurrying hither and 
thither; to the eye a bewildering, mingling, and con- 
fusion of color; to the ear — in their diversity of 
tongues — from the soft liquids of the south, to the 



46 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

harsh, rasping gutturals of the north — a maddening 
distraction. Escaping from it all as soon as possible, 
we betook ourselves to the heights of one of the 
nearest fortifications, from which we had a view not 
only of the quays and the shipping in the harbor, 
but of the whole magnificent bay with its rocky 
points stretching out into the blue transparency, and 
its beautiful sun-lit islands, warm and glowing in 
their setting of opalescent splendors. 

We made the acquaintance of Nice under circum- 
stances disadvantageous to Nice certainly, to say 
nothing of ourselves. A few scattered clouds with 
plume-like pennons in their wake, had been floating 
lightly and capriciously in the direction of the moun- 
tains, as if uncertain whether to advance or retreat. 
Before we reached Toulon, they had gathered to- 
gether, and hung in heavy, black masses along the 
margin of the sea; but they kept their threatening 
attitude for only a few moments, then thundered 
and stormed; and down poured the rain as if all the 
cloud gates of heaven were flung open at once. Ar- 
riving at Nice, we sought the nearest possible shelter, 
remained there weather-bound for two days, and left 
as soon as the sun came out and drove the clouds 
and Alpine winds back to the mountains. And now, 
we shall never know whether Nice is a "charming" 
town, when the winds do not blow T , and the sun shines. 



FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 47 

If one would feel himself lifted up bodily into 
Paradise, let him at Nice take a front seat on the 
top of a diligence and start for Genoa by the Cor- 
nice road; his French-Italian vetturino accompany- 
ing the measured click of the horse's hoofs on the 
smooth hard way, and the silvery jingle of their 
little bells, with snatches of airs from Trovatore or 
Sonnambula. One speeds gayly on and up, the road 
rising higher and higher above the glittering waters, 
rattles through the picturesque little village of Villa 
Franchia, with its church and monastery, and its 
historical ruins; losing sight of the turquoise azure 
of the sea and the pale violet of the yet misty slopes, 
as he approaches the chief of spectacular pomps — 
the early morning bursting in haloes of splendor 
on the mountain tops. The highest point of the 
road is the "Roches Rouges," where one may per- 
chance learn something of the temper of Alpine 
winds. The real charm of the Cornice begins with 
the descent toward Mentone. One moment we were 
rushing along narrow mountain edges, where pre- 
cipitous rocks, draped with October's brown and 
scarlet hued vines, rose on one side, and gorges with 
noisy streams hidden beneath wildernesses of foliage 
lay deep down on the other; the next, we seemed 
to have come to the end of the road; but we were 
whirled quickly around the apparent obstruction, 



48 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

and then perhaps down into a deep, walled ravine, 
where for a moment overhanging masses shut out 
both sun and sky; but passing a before unseen 
bridge, which at the bottom spanned the flowing 
vein of the mountain's heart, we were rushed up 
the other side and out into a dazzling, joyful sun- 
shine. 

Mentone lies close upon the sea, protected from 
the "moods of the mountains" by the encircling 
arms of the "Roches Rouges/' whose sharp reliefs 
and intaglios form a rich background for the nearer 
softly swelling slopes of olive green. It is a quiet, 
lovely place, with an air of cheerful, contented rest- 
fulness; where it would seem that invalids might 
woo and win back their losses; the steadfast moun- 
tains, with their pure, exhilarating airs, persistent 
to stimulate the flagging will, and the sea, singing 
its song of " Evermore and forever," stretching itself 
far away into the dreamy splendors of the southern 
horizon. Fishermen were hauling in their nets, well- 
laden; their red shirts and blue jackets, their blue 
and red caps, long black beards, bronzed complex- 
ions, and energetic gestures, making a striking pic- 
ture, and reminding one of that other and older 
group, as a study for which they would have served 
an artist's pencil well, the fishermen of the coast of 
Galilee. 



FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 49 

After leaving Mentone, the olive became more 
frequent, and the fruit larger, judging from that 
offered us by the peasants ; who, seated by the road- 
side, around huge caldrons, were boiling it for the 
oil. We slept at Oneglia, if it could be called sleep- 
ing to lie in bed consciously and impatiently watch- 
ing for the morning. Everything and everybody 
wore a brigandish look; the old woman who brought 
our candles had the ugliest, most wicked face con- 
ceivable; still she did not attempt to murder us, 
that we know of. The town is set on the rocks, 
between close hills, with an outlook and open road- 
way to the sea, its public square or market-place 
occupying a small, flinty level in the centre. The 
features of the heights which form its background, 
are as bold as picturesque; seamed with ridges and 
shadows of glens. It is famous for being the birth- 
place of one of Genoa's most distinguished sons, 
Andrea Doria, citizen, admiral, and doge, in the 
palmy day of the Republic. 

From Oneglia we had two very intelligent and 
interesting fellow travellers, on their way to Berg- 
amo, a city in the north. They discoursed bravely 
and enthusiastically of their beloved Italy, seeming 
to have perfect faith in her future as a United 
Italy, now that her capital is fixed securely at Rome. 
The chief delight of this our second day upon the 



50 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Cornice road, was that it almost overhung the sea; 
sometimes we seemed to be riding directly into the 
liquid opal — a strong white light having changed 
the clear azure of the water into an opaline blue; 
but a sharp, hitherto hidden angle would turn us 
suddenly from the apparently imminent plunge. The 
road follows all the indentations of the shore ; where- 
ever a projecting rock rises perpendicularly from the 
water's edge, it is outwitted by the engineer's skill, 
a tunnel making clear the way. The " Marble Gal- 
lery," so-called, is that portion of the road along 
which all the rock formations are of marble, often as 
white as that of Carrara. They are so perpendicular, 
so seamed with ridges and veins, so castle-like in 
forms, that one could almost believe them a wall of 
marble castles, duly provided with watch-towers, 
battlements, and turrets. This gallery is one of na- 
ture's occasional and peculiar expressions of wonder- 
ful individuality, whose white and stately beauty 
nothing mars, and also of self-centered repose, the 
deep-rooted foundations of which neither thunder nor 
whirlwind, it would seem, can shake. At sunset Ave 
had left the "Marble Gallery"; between us and it 
lay a warm, brilliant sky, whose broad tints of 
orange and crimson strove each for pre-eminence, 
and, before us, opened the valley in which lay the 
city of Genoa, filling with the soft, shadowy mists of 



FROM GENEVA TO GENOA. 51 

the coming twilight. As we neared the city, over the 
Pisan hills came the new moon with its tender light, 
softening the harsh outlines of the heavy walls and 
ponderous gateway through which we had to pass, 
and which had seemed in the gathering obscurity 
suggestive of vague and unwelcome possibilities. 



YI. 

FROM GENOA TO ROME. 

Next morning we awoke with the joyful conscious- 
ness that we were in Italy — the land which has myr- 
tle groves, palm trees, laurels wherewith to crown 
poets, and a sea breaking in canticles upon shores 
strewn with pearls and corals. It is true that Genoa 
is not quite the dreamful, song-inspiring South, nev- 
ertheless we found her a continual wonder and de- 
light. Queen-like she sits enthroned on her hill- 
sides at the foot of the Alps and Apennines, stately 
and beautiful still, but no longer a felt power as 
when she held the scale between contending em- 
pires; when her gallant and mighty fleets swept 
the waters of the Mediterranean and Black Seas, a 
threat to Venice and a terror to the Saracen ; when 
her ships brought gold and purple from Asia, and 
her neighbor Pisa paid tribute at her gates. The 
double wall encircling the city, the ramparts and 
forts of which make imperial silhouettes against the 



FROM GENOA TO ROME. 53 

sunny heights, and the two crescent-like moles that 
defend the waters of her harbor, give her an appear- 
ance of maritime strength, such as no power seem- 
ingly would dare attack. If there is any intimation 
of weakness, it is of quite another sort; the bare, 
rounded summits, and square, heavy mountain-spurs 
which rise in the background, suggest a spent vital- 
ity of soil ; but nothing of this is visible in the near 
luxuriantly blooming hills. Formerly near the dogana 
one saw the chains of the Pisan gates, festooned 
garland-like, but in the altered attitude of the two 
cities, they lost their air of triumphal derision. 

Once Genoa was called " La Superba " because of 
her wealth and proud, haughty self-assertion, but 
she holds the title now more in right of the grandeur 
of her palaces and the magnificence of her situation. 
The streets are all " up-and-down hill," very narrow 
and very irregular, excepting a few, to which, follow- 
ing the examples of other and younger cities, she has 
given a little more breadth; so much that two car- 
riages meeting may pass. But she lacks essentially 
the openness of space necessary to real grandeur, 
which a city with elements of activity and progress, 
and a sense of awakening to "newness of life," 
should strive to obtain. 

Of the rich and endless details of the palaces, too 
much can scarcely be said; particularly of those 



54 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

which the hand of repair keeps clothed with real 
splendors. One may wander on and on, and never 
tire of the bright, wild fancies that adorn the walls 
and ceilings, the colors as fresh as if of yesterday's 
creating. The smooth, polished pavements — mosaics 
or inlaid wood — return no sound of intruding feet, 
but fascinate with their bewitching novelty and beau- 
ty of design. The art and other* collections, once 
gathered in the galleries of these palaces, and the 
finest then in all Europe, are mostly scattered, either 
by the division of heritage, or to supply impoverished 
exchequers. The exteriors, not only of the palaces, 
but of all structures that have outside frescoes, are 
much impaired; the colors are dim — faded: wreaths 
have lost the purple of their violets, crowns their 
gold and jewels, Cupids their rosiness, and angels 
their wings. Many of the palaces have been given 
over to " Lessees of Apartments " and the interests 
of " Tradespeople," while some seemed to be almost 
abandoned. The most interesting and striking of 
these, is the Doria, which is associated with the ac- 
tive, brilliant, and illustrious periods of Genoese his- 
tory; it was once the pride of the government and 
the glory of the citizen. But its sumptuousness and 
magnificence have departed; its windows are closed; 
its corridors dilapidated; its marble columns are 
stained and broken; the treasures of its picture 



FROM GENOA TO ROME. 55 

galleries, who can tell whither they have gone? 
The gardens are still sweet with the odors of lemon 
and orange trees; fountains play from broken basins, 
watched by decapitated nymphs and limbless cher- 
ubs; the palace with well-preserved stateliness and 
massiveness of towers and turrets and heavy marble 
balconies, still overlooks the sea ; but one must evoke 
the august shades that wander through its desolate- 
ness to know much of its once noble and imposing 
grandeur. The great prince was not unmindful of 
the instability of sublunary things, for over the por- 
tal is the inscription, "Nulli certa domus." 

One morning, returning from a visit to the United 
States Consulate, we unexpectedly found ourselves 
standing in front of the old Cathedral of San Lorenzo, 
where centuries ago Columbus heard mass and 
dreamed of a new world westward of the seas. The 
facade, formed of broad alternate stripes of black and 
white marble, is very odd in effect. The interior is 
one gorgeous accumulation of beauty and richness; 
the walls are of highly polished variegated marble, 
the arches of the roof and domes are brilliant with 
frescoes, and the altars and shrines are loaded with 
gifts of gold, silver and jewels. One of the treasures 
of the Cathedral is the " Sacro Catino, 1 ' given by the 
queen of Sheba to King Solomon, from which, accord- 
ing to tradition, Christ ate the paschal Lamb. It is 



56 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

cut from a single piece of colored glass, once the 
wonder and admiration of every one who looked upon 
it, being supposed to be an emerald; it is still so 
called by the accommodating sacristan. The richest 
chapel is that of St. John Baptist, into which, because 
of Herodias' daughter, no woman is allowed to enter 
except on one certain day in the year. It has all the 
conceivable splendors of marble, both of color and 
polish, and the beauty and sentiment of the finest 
paintings after famous masters; it has even inherited 
material of Solomon's temple, for one of its pillars, 
it is said, was brought thence. Truly, it is a grand 
enthusiasm that builds such churches, though it is to 
be regretted that it is not a less superstitious one, 
thought we, standing in the reflected splendor of the 
windows, through the rainbow hues of which was 
pouring a flood of sunshine. 

During the day we strolled into another church, 
the like of which, for marvellousness of color and ap 
parent costliness, I had never before imagined. It 
was built four or five hundred years ago by a certain 
rover of the seas, in expiation of his crimes. The 
columns and pillars — some being made of twisted 
stalactites — are wonderfully beautiful, springing from 
their bases with exquisite grace, and a seeming im- 
pulse of joy, to give their support to a weight of 
gilded cornices and pediments, and groups of golden 



FROM GENOA TO ROME. 57 

angels. The walls, one would suppose, were inlaid 
with precious stones rather than marbles, so definite 
and luminous are the colors which they reflect; the 
roof, crowned with a dome worthily splendid, sparkles 
and glows as if encrusted with gems set in burnished 
sunshine. There are numberless pictures, many of 
which make visible the wondrous opulence and glory 
of art; some telling the stories of the prophets and 
kings of the Old Revelation, while those which serve 
as altar-pieces, represent either a Virgin listening to 
the first promises of a coming Saviour, or a sweet- 
faced, rejoicing Madonna, bending with questioning 
wonder over the child Jesus; or more frequently, 
the scenes of the Mount, the Garden, and the 
Cross. 

It is lamentable that the symbol is so universally 
taken for the fact symbolized, by the faithful of the 
Romish Church ; many persons were postrate in real, 
devout penitence or rapt-ecstasy before these altar- 
pictures. Romanism works through such subtle 
mysteries ! sometimes through the purest, most spir- 
itual ideals; sometimes through the grossest and most 
sensuous materialism ! Of the mosaics of the pave- 
ments of this church, of their richness of color and 
grace of designs, not a hundredth part could be told ; 
they seemed too wonderful and precious to be trodden 
upon ; and into what an enhanced, enchanted beauty 



58 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

were they surprised by the unexpected shining here 
and there of a stray sunbeam ! 

One afternoon, when the air was like wine for ex- 
hilaration, and the clouds like pearl crowns set upon 
the mountains, we drove to the little suburban vil- 
lage of Albaro. Our vetturino pointed out to us, 
with the air of one accustomed to doing it as a 
part of his supposed contract, the Villa Bagnerello, 
or Pink Jail, where Dickens lived for three months 
once; "a man who wrote a great many books," we 
were kindly informed. Dickens gives a delightful 
sketch of the Villa and its neighborhood, in his 
"Pictures from Italy." 

Keturning from Albaro, we found we were in time 
for the fashionable promenade in the " Acqua Sola." 
A military band was playing, and the Genoese no- 
bility and other gentry were airing their splendors 
of titles, decorations and equipages. Not a pezzotfo 
did we see during the whole day; like the Spanish 
mantilla, it is seldom seen except at mass. If we 
might venture an opinion in the matter, the Genoese 
ladies can ill afford to dispense with the pezzotto's 
white, floating gauziness. Their beauty is of the 
LMubonpoint style, and the pezzotto has the most 
charming illusory effects, softening all heaviness of 
features, and lending something of its own airiness 
to the figure. In the faces of the Geneose, one sees 



FROM GENOA TO ROME. 59 

just a perceptible change of type — a change from 
the active intellectuality of the North to the dolci- 
far-niente of the South, amounting to a suggestion 
of indolent sensuality. 

From the heights which rise in the background 
of the Villa Negro, one has the fine and famed out- 
look toward the sea. Beneath are the stately pal- 
aces, the beautiful terraced gardens with shaded 
walks, the silver sparkle and rainbow play of foun- 
tains, the white gleam of • marble columns and statue- 
groups amid green luxuriance, and the sunny Cor- 
nice, which, taking up the mystery of its windings and 
vistas, trails its white way along the coast toward 
Spezia; while before one, is the blue Mediterranean 
kissing the feet of the queenly city, its surface un- 
broken save by the slight ripple of a scarcely per- 
ceptible breeze, or the changing sheen of the daz- 
zling sunlight, so broad and so boundless ! Why 
could not one throw in an island or two ? Yes, it is 
islands that the gulf of Genoa wants to make it 
perfect; the eye wanders too far and too vaguely, 
with* no place of rest! 

However thankful for blissful hours of thoughtful 
converse and idle dreaming on hills fragrant with 
flowers and shaded with interlacing groves, and 
within the shadow-haunied walls of neglected, de- 
cayed palaces, still we must confess that we were 



60 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

never so much in love with Genoa as to wish to 
live with her always, taking her for better and for 
worse; so, one evening when the stars were shin- 
ing out of the depths of the sky, and the " revolving 
lantern " throwing its light far out to sea, we went 
on board the steamer Sardinia, bound for Leghorn. 
The next morning we awoke, and found that we 
were already at anchor in the harbor " where we 
would be." Little boats were pushing off from the 
shore, coming out to take passengers and luggage 
up to the city. Once landed, a few friendly liras 
rushed us through the dogana and to the " Hotel 
d'Europe," where w r e were joined by friends who 
had hurried on from Nice that they might visit the 
quarries of Carrara. Leghorn has a business-like ac- 
tivity which quite distinguishes it from other Italian 
cities; it is in this respect alone that it makes any 
separate or individual impression ; it is comparatively 
a modern city, having attained its commercial im- 
portance only after the destruction of the harbor of 
Pisa. Many of the finest suburban villas are occu- 
pied by Jews, they being the wealthier and larger 
portion of the population. 

Our chief anxiety about Leghorn was to get out of 
it as soon as possible, and the remembrance of our 
continually baffled efforts to that effect is like a dis- 
turbed dream of Purgatory — nothing else expresses 



FROM GENOA TO ROME. 61 

it. We finally overcame our "sea of troubles," — 
bankers, guides, missing letters, etc., and started for 
Pisa. At the station, tourists from every quarter of 
the globe had congregated, in numbers rivalling the 
Roman legions; all going out to Pisa. We con- 
cluded that they too had heard of the "Tower all 
awry " ; and that it was the Tower that caused them 
to let loose a Babel-like confusion of tongues. 

Arrived, there was no difficulty in finding — quite 
apart from the small stir of the town — the quaint lit- 
tle square around which are grouped the four struc- 
tures that have made Pisa one of the wonderful 
cities of the world, her Cathedral, Baptistery, Tower, 
and Campo Santo. The tower leans quite enough; 
the charm of its grace and lightness is lost in a 
half apprehensive consciousness of its much aslant- 
ness ; a consciousness, of which one cannot rid him- 
self, notwithstanding the many times he is reminded 
that it has stood "just so" for centuries. 

It is said of Pisa, that she is dead, and that during 
her lifetime of splendid powers and untold wealth 
she built her monument, the Campo Santo. If she 
is dead, it is fitting that a cemetery should be her 
monument, and that flowers springing from the dust 
of buried generations should weave her mortuary 
crown. The burial court, the earth of which was 
brought from the Holy Land, is surrounded by mar- 



62 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

ble walls with lofty arcades, and high oval windows 
the light columns of the latter are ornamented with 
sculptured ivies and roses. The monuments are of 
all epochs; classic tombs, with bacchanalian nymphs 
and fauns, stand beside others shadowed by the cross 
or guarded by white-winged angels. The peculiar 
light that foils upon all, animates them with a beauty 
of seeming warmth and life. In the sculptures of 
John and Andrew of Pisa one sees the ever recurring 
idea of death triumphant in immortality; Prophets, 
Evangelists, Saints, after their pilgrimages of peni- 
tence and labor, enter conquerors into Eternal Pos- 
sessions. In cemeteries, one realizes that human his- 
tory is but a procession of shadows — one feels how 
surely "the night of death cometh to all," but not 
less surely the coming of the morning ! 

Crossing one of the bridges of the " Lung 'Arno " 
on our way back to the railway station, we heard 
near us a sweet voice singing "Bellessimi Fiori"; 
looking in the direction whence it came, we saw a 
child of seven or eight years of age standing in the 
shadow of the guard-house. Coming up to her, and 
stooping to take a bunch of her roses and violets, I 
perceived that there was no light in the upturned 
eyes — the child was blind. The suddenness of the 
revelation, the mute appeal of the sightless eyes, 
the gentle, pathetic melancholy of the face, addressed 



FROM GENOA TO ROME. 63 

and thrilled my spirit indescribably. The touching 
scene and the sound of the sweet " BeLlessimi Fiori " 
haunt my memory yet, try to shut them out as I will. 
When even Italy may be as a forgotten dream, I 
shall still see the face and hear the voice of this 
child — Nydia of Pisa. 

Either we were occupied with other thoughts (the 
near presence of Rome) or the scenery after leaving 
Siena was too dull and monotonous to arouse our 
enthusiasm. The rocky peaks of the Umbrian moun- 
tains were visible in the distance, and we came upon 
a lake, whose waters were sparkling and bright 
above a city which they had engulfed; but gener- 
ally the landscape seemed uninteresting. When we 
had passed the frontier of Umbria, once of the Papal 
States, Ave knew that we had entered on the deso- 
lation of the Campagna. For miles there was noth- 
ing to relieve the dull, dead monotony. We re- 
membered that we were rushing over ruined towns, 
hushed villages, and low-lying fortress towers and 
battlements, the secrets of which the sullen wastes 
had hidden for centuries, and would continue to hide 
for centuries more; unless perchance with the new 
life-throes throbbing at the heart of the nation, they 
may be rent open, and the dead forms called forth by 
the resurrective power of Italian unity. Rome is no 
longer a dead city, but alive with stirring activities, 



64 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

which, reaching out into the Campagna, may one 
day make it bright with Spring-tide beauty and 
blooming. As the afternoon wore away, gray mists 
spread themselves like a veil over the landscape, then 
deepened into a purplish hue, and finally into dark- 
ness. We passed a bridge; "Crossing the Tiber," 
said some one. My heart gave a great leap ! After- 
ward there were huge walls, outlines of heavy masses, 
shadowy black shapes, and glimmering lights, and 
we were in Rome — set down in the Agger of Servius 
Tullius ! — otherwise the station of the Italian Central 
Railway. Thence we were driven to our hotel in the 
Piazza di Spagna. 



VII. 

THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 

Our first week in the Eternal City was spent in 
seeking lodgings, that we might settle our small 
possessions, and take up the routine and pleasures 
of a sort of home-life before setting ourselves to the 
work (for work it is, however delightful it may be) 
of seeking out and studying her manifold wonders. 
Thus it has come to pass in the fortunate events of 
things that we are "at home," two doors from Trinita 
de' Monti, at the top of the Spanish steps, one of the 
sunniest places in all Eome, — our windows overlook- 
ing her domes, obelisks, and palaces, the Pincian 
with its gardens and drives being on one side, and 
the road leading to the Piazza Barberini on the 
other. In the house adjoining us, toward the Pin- 
cian, Poussin once lived, and painted his Arcadian 
dreams; while nearly opposite, Claude Lorraine 
studied the marvellous qualities of light, caught the 
sunshine, and with its tremulous gleams and golden 
mysteries made his canvas glow. 



QQ A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

It is evident that, since the change of government, 
Rome has ceased to be simply an archaeological tomb, 
the mausoleum of Paganism and the custodian of the 
traditions of the Romish Church. The subject of 
to-day's general discussion is not so much the history 
of her past, as the facts of her present, together with 
the promises for her future; what the Italian par- 
liament will do in the matter of the proposed system 
of bonded warehouses for seaport towns; whether 
striking capital punishment from the "new code" 
will have any repressible effect on crime, or other- 
wise ; whether in the ceremony of marriage, Church 
or State be the ultimatum of authority; and whether 
the financial ship, so well set afloat by Minghettis 
wisdom, will be able to sail steadily through in- 
creasing troubles. 

Although gladly acknowledging that universal grat- 
itude is due to Victor Emmanuel and his Council of 
State for opening the gates of Rome, making wel- 
come the blessed light of a few new ideas, and let- 
ting in the purer air of a few wholesome political 
truths, still it is not their new city that we have come 
especially to see, but rather ancient Rome, the city 
eternal in its vitality as well as its inspirations, the 
grand "triumphal arch" on the columns and archi- 
traves of which are sculptured the records of the 
human race; where artists come to learn the secrets 



THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 67 

imprisoned in marble, and scholars freed from the 
prosaicness of every-day life renew the enthusiasms 
of their youth; where, forgetting the disturbing 
turmoils of the present and the marvellous march 
of modern progress, one may study the antipodal 
phases of past history, the rise and fall of republics, 
the glory of the crowned authority, and the low- 
fallen, uncrowned fate of Csesars. 

One morning, while the earth was still radiant 
with her most alluring charms, we drove to the 
Piazza de Ara-Coeli, at the foot of the Capitoline, — 
the Capitoline, with which one is accustomed to 
associate all that is grandest and most imposing in 
State ceremonials — the magnificence of kings, the 
stern majesty of the republic, the combined dig- 
nity of senatorial conclaves, and the laurel-crowning 
pageantries that have sealed poets and orators with 
immortality! 

We stopped a moment to enjoy the pleasant, warm 
sunniness of the piazza, also to note the freshness 
and sweetness of the little garden near by. " It was 
just here, where the garden begins," remarked the 
student in history, " that Rienzi fell, overtaken by a 
vengeful death." Two Egyptian lions, superbly con- 
fident in animal strength, seemed proud of the guar- 
dianship entrusted to them, viz. : that of the grand 
staircase, " La Cordonnata," leading to the square of 



68 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the Capitoline. The staircase was built in its present 
form to accommodate the chariots and horsemen of 
the triumphal procession of Charles V. at the time 
of his entry into the city in 1536. At the top a dingy, 
rain-cracked Castor and Pollux stand on either side, 
also a Constantine and son, and the trophies ot 
Marius — but why the latter are so called still puz- 
zles the antiquary. The first glance was followed 
by a keen, sore sense of disappointment; — my im- 
agination with its free fancies and freer exaggera- 
tions had certainly "played me false." Could it have 
been in this same little Campidoglio that Brutus 
harangued "Romans, countrymen, and lovers" after 
the murder of Caesar? The buildings of Michael 
Angelo, the museum, the palace of the Conservators, 
and the present Capitol, no doubt crowd upon it more 
than did the Pagan temples; but it could hardly ever 
have had that ampleness of space which our precon- 
ceived ideas of Roman grandeur demand, whether 
of Praetors or of Caesars. 

The equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in the 
centre of the square is all that is not disappointing. 
To have it there is well worth the once required 
annual presentation of a bunch of flowers by the 
senators to the chapter of the Lateran, to whom it 
belongs. The horse is certainly related to those de- 
scribed by Homer — mettled, strong, and fleet. Noth- 



THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 69 

ing can be more regal, than the figure and attitude 
of the emperor. " Imperial but wise, authority sits 
enthroned " ; while the hand outstretched as if about 
to speak, gives a semblance of life and action. 

One forgets all disappointments when he enters 
the galleries of the museum; his only wish is that he 
knew more of Homer and Plato, that he might re- 
construct the life and spirit of the mute marbles, 
which he is conscious that he sees only in part. 
Homer and Plato wrote for all nations and all times; 
besides, art, though flourishing in Rome, was a child 
of Greek birth. One looks wonderingly at the grand 
Juno, seemingly from Olympus just descended, and 
smiles sympathetically with the faun in rosso antico, 
which holds in each hand a bunch of grapes, display- 
ing them with a sort of bacchanalian delight. The 
faun of Praxiteles is of a finer type; it is exceedingly 
graceful, prone to mirthfulness, and musical, as is 
seen in the sylvan pipe in the hand — an altogether 
pleasing embodiment of undebased physical joy. The 
dying gladiator, however, is the treasure of the mu- 
seum ; into no other block of marble has such beauty, 
nobleness and pathos been wrought. One feels in- 
stantly how real it all is — the slow but sure stealing 
away of the life, the heroically conquered pain, the 
unuttered agony of spirit, and the final consenting 
to the inevitable. We may not weep for him, but 



70 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

for wife and children on some distant sunny plain. 
The seated statue of Agrippina, the wife of German- 
icus, is one of the most beautiful of the female 
statues; the head is particularly fine. 

Among the busts, those that pleased us most — 
and the originals must have pleased artists well, 
judging from the great number of representations 
of them — were Marcus Aurelius, the thoughtful ideal- 
ist, yet none the less masterly intellectual, and Tra- 
jan, the grave, proud Spaniard, so grandly imperial 
and mighty. The bust of Cato is striking, particu- 
larly so, despite its general narrow-minded expres- 
sion; the strong will of the old Roman seems strug- 
gling to free itself from its stony inactivity. The 
history of the Empire, as also the progress and decay 
of civilization under the tyranny of the Caesars, may 
be traced in the individual characteristics represented 
in the prominent busts of the " Hall of the Emperors." 

In the court below, through which Ave passed re- 
turning to the square, a lion-mouthed fountain, pour- 
ing forth water at the feet of a river god, made 
pleasant music notwithstanding its ferocious aspect; 
and near by, in mute attentiveness stood a colossal 
statue of Hadrian, strayed from the Coelian ; while 
on all sides were arranged fragments of ancient in- 
scriptions, bas-reliefs, and sarcophagi. 

The famous church of Ara-Coeli, on the height at 



THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 71 

the left, occupies doubtless the site of the most 
magnificent of pagan temples — that of Jupiter Capi- 
tolinus. The height is as loaded with the memory 
of historical events, as the church is with relics, 
mediaeval tombs, faded splendors, and the fragrance 
of incense. It was in this church that Gibbon's medi- 
tations had breathed into them the breath of life. As 
he sat studying the pavement of Opus Alexandri- 
num, musing on the fate of the mighty fallen, he 
conceived the idea of writing his "Decline and Fall 
of Rome." On the opposite side of the square, in a 
garden overhanging a ridge of cliffs, we looked for 
the Tarpeian Kock, but in vain — at least we could 
not find the Rupe Tcuyeia of Miriam and Donatello. 
As one descends the slope from the Capitol to the 
Forum, he feels the buried past striving to reveal 
itself. The remains of the Tabularium — huge blocks, 
supporting a colonnade with the date b. c. 79 — ex- 
quisite Ionic columns, remnants of the temple of 
Saturn, where great Pompey listened to the greater 
Cicero — the rostrum and re-erected pillars of the 
school of Zanthus, the half buried stones of the pave- 
ment of Via Sacra, and the sculptured and inscrip- 
tioned Arch of Septemus Severus — all come into 
notice, and set one's thoughts wandering among the 
entanglements and bewilderments of many successive 
historic periods. 



72 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

At the foot of the slope is the little church which 
serves as the entrance to the Mamertine Prisons. 
These prisons are cut in the tufa rock that underlies 
the Capitoline Hill, and are haunted with the ugliest 
memories and surmises. It is not needful to recall 
the authenticated deeds done in them — to mention 
the Cataline conspirators, Jugurtha, king of Mauri- 
tania, the victim of Marius, or Simon Bar Gioras, 
the last of the defenders of Jerusalem — to realize 
their dread and horrible gloom, it is enough to have 
felt it even for a moment ! In the lowest dungeon, 
according to tradition, St. Peter and St. Paul were 
confined, and from it sent forth their farewell epistles 
to the churches, viz. : II Peter and II Timothy. This 
may easily be believed; but that the spring shown 
was of sudden and miraculous origin, appearing that 
Peter might have water to baptize the jailer and his 
household, does not harmonize with the mention of 
the spring in connection with certain noted prison 
events which happened prior to the time of St. Peter. 

Issuing from the darkness of the prisons, how wel- 
come was the genial sunshine, the clear atmosphere 
beautifying all forms, the perfect sky with lines of 
walls, arcades and columns in relief against the pure, 
heavenly azure ! We continued our way along the 
Via Sacra, past the deep hollow of the Forum, the 
lofty, solitary column of Phocas, the disinterred ba- 



THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 73 

silica of Constantine, and the three lovely Corinthian 
columns which support an entablature richly sculp- 
tured; these have been more admired and discussed 
perhaps than any like existing ruin. On our right, 
gardens were blooming and cypresses waving above 
the palace graves of the Palatine; on our left, rose 
the graceful campanile of Santa Francesca and the 
crumbling walls of the Temple of Venus. Passing 
beneath the arch of Titus — which the Jew shuns, 
remembering Jerusalem and the cruel fate of his 
people — we continued on to the slope beyond, where 
Horace took his walks, and where the Coliseum with 
its simple but sublime grandeur bursts upon the 
vision. 

The architecture of the Coliseum is purely Eoman, 
grace and beauty yielding to colossal magnitude and 
durability of construction. It is the thought of a 
strong -willed, tyrannical race, that knew neither 
sentiments of justice nor humanity, the outcome 
of the triumph of force, and the desire and demand 
for its universal empire. Within the Coliseum, all 
that meets the eye proclaims how utter is its deso- 
lation ; we are hushed into silence in the presence of 
a solitude so mournful, a stateliness of pomp and 
pride undone so awful ! The arena is infested with 
the most frightful associations, if one permits himself 
to remember — the fury of savage beasts, the terrors 



74 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of gladiatorial combats, and the death scenes of 
martyrs. Looking back through the centuries, he 
sees the vast amphitheatre filled with an' eager, 
excited multitude. People, senators, even imperial 
Caesar, delight in the passionate, relentless strife that 
surges and tosses itself from one side of the arena to 
the other, and revel in the final spectacle of agony 
and death. The golden sand and the carmine with 
which the ground is strewn conceal not the purple 
flow; no, it is not the reflection of the Oriental awn- 
ings drawn to temper the light, but the flow of blood. 
Not a regret mingles with our thoughts of the 
Coliseum as a ruin, but rather great thankfulness 
that it is such, and that it belongs so entirely to an 
age for twenty centuries dead and buried. "We could 
not help wishing that all the elements of ferocious- 
ness had disappeared with the people who once fre- 
quented it, instead of being transmitted to their de- 
scendants — the Italians of brigandish mien still seen 
in the streets. While I sat thus meditating, a pro- 
cession of Xeapolitan pilgrims entered; as they 
passed, each kissed the place where the Cross once 
stood, the memorial of those who suffered martyrdom 
within the walls of the Coliseum. I hold every per- 
son's sincerity of faith in respectful consideration, 
still I could not help thinking what a sudden letting 
up there must be some day in the progress of purga- 



THE CAPITOL AND COLISEUM. 75 

torial punishments if every kiss is entitled to a hun- 
dred days' indulgence. 

The Coliseum is most impressive, seen by moon- 
light, the noisy day hushed and a solitude solemn 
and unbroken brooding over all; such moonlights and 
such solitudes as are known only in Rome! Then 
one seems to see deeper meanings and read loftier 
sentiments in the moon-whitened bandlets adorning 
Doric and Ionic pillars; one perceives into what a 
vision of beauty the severe grandeur of its huge 
cornices, stories of heavy arches, and diadem-like 
crowning porticos can be transformed, and won- 
ders what strange marvels the throng of pale, uncer- 
tain shadows would reveal could they but be stayed 
in their ghostly flight. One night, when we were 
proving the verities of its moonlight splendors, hav- 
ing climbed the vine-festooned walls, and through 
the mysteries of its arches reached the light porticos 
of the open crown, we heard, borne up through the 
strange night stillness, the patriotic strains of our 
" My country, 'tis of -thee, sweet land," etc. Looking 
down into the moon-filled depths, we saw a party 
of tourists, and a gendarme apparently protesting 
against their proceedings; but they were unmoved 
by either his French or Italian — seeming not to un- 
derstand either — and continued to fill the vaultless 
arena with their patriotic melodies; it was evident 



76 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. 

that they had come with the determination to sing 
the songs of the century-old republic within the 
owl-haunted solitudes of the great ruin — the despoiled 
triumph-hall of despots. Before the finale of the sec- 
ond song, we had recognized the voices, and de- 
scended to greet friends whom we had thought to be 
still " moon-shining " about Como and Maggiore. 

Recent excavations prove that the Coliseum is of a 
date long anterior to that generally accorded to it, 
and reveal what materially changes all previous ideas 
in regard to the history of its construction. The 
Flavian miracle — the building of the Coliseum in less 
than three years — becomes a myth, for the divers into 
this fathomless sea of antiquity (literally "divers" be- 
cause the substructures are many feet under water) 
have brought to light individual traces of many 
periods. It is now believed that the Flavian Em- 
perors built only the two rows of corridors and the 
superb northern front. The substructures also ex- 
plain the arrangements for scenic effects, and the 
means by which the arena was converted into a sea 
for naval combats. The excavations, extending to 
over seventy feet below the present level of the 
arena, have been filled up, it being thought that they 
endangered the walls of the structure. 



VIII. 

THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER 7 S. 

The days here are so full of new material for 
thought that we are overwhelmed, sometimes lost 
to all consciousness but that of a vague, confused 
piling up of the ages. It is comforting to believe 
that, let things mix together as they may for a time, 
they will somehow finally disentangle themselves and 
come into order. Those who through engravings, are 
familiar with the noted structures and monuments of 
Rome, easily recognizing their forms and uses, look 
upon the originals, even when seen for the first time, 
as upon the faces of old friends. But this feeling of 
familiarity dies out, when one comes to live with 
them and study them with a certain earnestness and 
definiteness of purpose ; when, day after day, he finds 
so much that is new and unlooked for, perceives the 
thoughts that underlie the manifold forms, and traces 
the records which, reaching down through successive 
centuries, unite the past with the present. He soon 



78 A NKW TREAD IX AX OLD TRACK. 

finds that a picture quite unlike his first simple 
outline-sketch is being indelibly engraved upon his 
heart, one with a beauty more perfect, of more 
classic lineaments ami loveliness, with a grandeur 
infinitely greater, a more lite-like expression of lofty 
intents ami deeds, and a tiara of immortal splendors 
of light, learning and triumphs. 

It is thus that we come to see and know rightly 
the Pantheon or St. Peter's. The first impression of 
the former, finding it suddenly in a strange perplex- 
ity of labyrinthine streets and passages, is that of 
something simply huge and black. Notwithstanding 
its majestic pillars, vast portico, and harmonious pro- 
portions, its imposingness is lost in the crowding of 
adjoining buildings, and in the lessening of its appar- 
ent height by the tilling up of the street. Yet, 
despite these drawbacks, together with Bernini's 
"asses ears" (otherwise his two steeples) the front is 
grand; its bronze doors, its faultless Corinthian col- 
umns, and its inscriptioned entablature, recording the 
date of the building (b. c. 27 years), declare that the 
magnificence of the Temple was worthy a nation of 
conquering sovereigns. 

Entering the broad, silent doorway, we came into 
the free space of a wide-reaching, lofty rotundity of 
walls and dome; beauty, harmony, and vastness un- 
rolling before us, like the plenitude and oneness of 



THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETERS. 79 

the Infinite. Built, as its name indicates, as a tem- 
ple for all gods, it unwittingly symbolizes our faith 
in the One Eternal God! From the archways hung 
pennons of floating particles, made golden splen- 
dors by the sunlight streaming down upon their 
delicate transparency; while through the single 
opening of the dome, we saw heaven's own azure 
sea, over which sailed fleecy masses of clouds, letting 
fall, ever and anon, upon the pavement beneath, 
tremulous, fitful shadows. Directly under the open- 
ing there is a beautiful, soft, green mossiness, so long 
have the rains watered and the sun warmed the 
great seamed blocks of porphyry or granite. The 
Pantheon — albeit the admiration and inspiration of 
two thousand centuries — has suffered from the spolia- 
tions of time and greed — its surface is battered, its 
Avails cracked and crumbling; it has been robbed of 
its bronze to adorn the shrine of a new faith, and of 
its brass and other metal sheathings to make cannon 
for St. Angelo. Nevertheless, forgetting its present 
din gin ess and maimedness, the imagination pictures 
it as it was in the days of the Empire, when its walls 
were white with polished marble, its beams, tiles and 
relievos were of lustrous bronze, its massive pilasters 
glittered with gold, and grand statues of gods stood 
in niches between superb columns of giallo-antico; 
when, too, the triumphs of a completed Empire cul- 



80 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

minated in its dedication "to all the gods"; the 
glories of which Imperial festival Virgil has made 
immortal. 

This pagan temple was long ago converted into a 
church, and the niches of the gods filled with Chris- 
tian altars; still its ancient name has never been lost 
in its new one — " St. Mary of the Martyrs/' Former- 
ly the Pope celebrated mass at its chief altar on the 
day of Pentecost. It was especially well fitted for 
this feast, as the shower of white rose-leaves symbol- 
izing the Holy Spirit was sent scattering down 
through the opening of the dome: thus the people 
had little difficulty in believing that the descent was 
directly from heaven, — indeed, it would require at 
any time but a slight stretch of the imagination to 
see angel faces hovering in the open space. It is 
probably due to its consecration to Christian uses that 
the Pantheon is so well preserved. Several distin- 
guished Italian artists have been allowed sepulture 
within this ancient art temple, and among them, one 
who has made it a place of pilgrimages, one who 
loved to paint tender, holy Virgins, — Raphael of Ur- 
bino. According to his desire, the white sculptured 
Madonna of Lorenzetto is on the altar, beneath 
which, what was mortal of him reposes. In front of 
the altar, the pavement had been opened to admit 
another dweller into the solemn still darkness be- 



THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETERS. 81 

low; we wondered who was thought worthy to lie so 
near the great painter. 

The Pantheon, in the natural transitions of 
thought, suggests St. Peter's, the one being the most 
magnificent of Pagan, and the other of Christian 
temples. A certain Mr. Scribbler says that it is 
worth while for all who come to Rome to visit St. 
Peter's, but he intimates that it is quite un worth 
while to attempt to say anything about it. I agree 
with him, but still am tempted into the folly of not 
following his example, by my enthusiastic though not 
altogether unqualified admiration of the wonderful 
structure. 

Having crossed the Tiber and walked the length 
of the strada del Borgo Nuova, we came into the 
Piazza Rustic ucci, from which open the colonnades 
of Bernini. An inscription on one of the large 
granite blocks arrested my attention, — "A taber- 
nacle for a shadow in the daytime from the heat, 
and for a place of refuge, and for a covert from storm 
and rain." The question at once arose in my mind 
whether the inscription was intended to refer to the 
colonnades or the church; if to the latter, it had a 
spiritual significance, and pointed out the Romish 
Church as the shelter for all souls,— those fatigued 
with seeking, those pursued by wrong or adverse 
fortune, those storm-beaten ones drenched by piti- 



82 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

less rains or suffering from inward wounds. If it 
referred to the colonnades, we found a literal inter- 
pretation quite pertinent, when oar feet seemed to 
burn with the white heat of the pavement, and we 
were nearly blinded by the dazzling glare of the 
sun, which pours its midday rays directly into the 
square. In the centre of the piazza is the famous 
granite obelisk, brought from Heliopolis by Caligula, 
but placed in its present position by Sixtus V., after 
it had been duly exorcised of its Paganism, and con- 
secrated with a cross. On either side of the obelisk 
a fountain sends up crystal jets into the shadowless 
space, which, descending in clouds of spray, are 
broken into varied hues; but in their fall there is 
little sense of coolness or refreshment. As one 
approaches St. Peter's, the eye first follows the 
graceful, crescent-like sweep of the colonnades, then 
takes a direct line up the magnificent flight of steps, 
and across the broad level of the platform, till it 
reaches the facade, when lo, disappointment challenges 
every expectation ! There is nothing in its columns, 
statues, and balconies, to indicate its purpose; and be- 
hind its balustrade loaded with figures, the gigantic 
dome has dwindled into insignificance. Within the 
vestibule, colossal statues of Charlemagne and Con- 
stantine keep royal guard; while the central bronze 
doors — wherein the martyrdom of saints, and other 



THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER'S. 83 

Christian subjects are bordered with representations 
of Ganymede, Leda and her Swan, and medallions of 
Koman Emperors— intimate how Paganism or Idola- 
try has slidden into the Romish Church. For had 
she not returned to idols — to the processional pomps 
and luxury of Pagan sovereigns — before the entrance 
through the Porta Pia of a power that put a check 
upon her ambition and achievements? 

I know that the prosaic present laughs at all ex- 
pressions of enthusiasm, but even at the risk of a 
laugh, let me confess my once weakness. There was 
a time when I could not read Mine, de Stael's de- 
scription of St. Peter's — of the moment when Corinne 
and Lord Nelvil stand before the leathern curtain 
which closes the door-way, — expectancy, awe, and 
profound religious sentiments filling their hearts 
and stirring their imaginations, — without sharing 
their sensations to an overwhelming degree ; it mat- 
tered not that the story was a fiction, the description 
was real, and the emotions might be. Now I stood 
within the same vast, world-renowned temple, before 
the same heavy curtain ! I had scarcely courage to 
raise it, so much did I fear another disappointment, 
— a revelation that would suddenly destroy my pre- 
built temple, — symbolizing the highest religious faith, 
foreshadowing help for spiritual wants, and suggest- 
ing, in the splendor of its hues and the magnificence 



84 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of its adornings, that other temple of the Christian's 
faith and hope — the temple eternal, whose walls are 
of jasper and chalcedony, whose light is Christ, and 
whose builder is God. Summoning the courage to 
pass the doorway, we entered the church; a glowing 
radiance, piercing the western windows, diffused 
itself through the lofty, wide-spreading space, de- 
scended in a shower from the mysterious arches of 
the resplendent dome, and hung a floating, mist-like 
veil of sunbeams directly in our pathway. The 
pavement seemed to stretch itself into a limitless 
distance, as in a sort of hushed, timid awe, we 
walked slowly up the grand pillared nave. \Ve 
passed the deceptive colossal cherubs of the holy- 
water font, the seated black bronze statue of St. 
Peter (a converted Pagan with an aureola) and the 
strikingly eloquent "Memento mori," the sarcopha- 
gus in which the remains of each Pope await the 
death of his successor, — yet were conscious of little 
more than a perplexing, baffling mightiness and 
magnificence on every hand. 

A balustrade with eighty golden lamps, always 
burning, surrounds the opening before the high- 
altar, beneath which are the crypt and shrine of 
the Saint. Down there knelt a marble Pius Sixth, 
while above were kneeling two or three Campagna 
peasants and a group of weary, dusty pilgrims. The 



THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETERS. 85 

sunshine's golden radiance descended like a celestial 
messenger, wreathing now and then with a halo 
of light a low-bowed penitential head. Beneath 
the dome, within the space enclosed by the four 
hnge pillars that support it, one sees revealed all 
the unequalled material grandeur and richness of 
St. Peters. It seems as if the centuries had said 
to one another, "Let us build the most sumptuous, 
the most magnificent structure possible to human 
conception and human skill " ; and all agreeing, 
they had brought their gold and silver, their mar- 
ble quarries, their mighty men, their high priests 
of Art — Bramante, Raphael, and Michael Angelo — 
and reared this wonderful temple. It is resplendent 
with light, and profusely enamelled with sculptured 
devices, precious marbles, and rarest mosaics. Bold 
arches, gorgeous tombs, splendid chapels, and altars 
with burning tapers, wall in its aisles, transepts, and 
tribune; while for a crowning glory, it is canopied 
with a dome radiating colors of celestial qualities, 
from which Evangelists, Apostles, and the benig- 
nant Christus himself looks down. Above the high- 
altar, the baldacchino, ornamented with gold leafage 
and flowers, lifts a golden cross into the mid-space 
of the dome, where, amidst other symbols, it shines 
as a fixed star. 

St. Peter's is indeed a wonder, viewed as a mag- 



86 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

nificent edifice, as an accumulation of costly and 
emblazoned splendor, suited to the pomps of royal 
ceremonies and gay festivals. But whoever looks 
for any incitement to devotional feelings (other than 
in bare symbolisms), any significant answer to his 
hopes or fears, any lifting of the soul and its long- 
ings heavenward, either in prayer or praise, will 
look in vain. Architecturally, it is a plagiarism 
from the basilica of Constantine and the Pantheon. 
Wholly destitute of any spiritual element, its wings 
clipped and its powers shackled by its constructive 
law, it cannot, like the free pointed aerial reaches 
of the Gothic, soar upward toward the Infinite. It 
strikes us as a Papal, rather than a Christian monu- 
ment; the visible triumph of an ambition that in its 
unwarrantable arrogance dares to invest itself with 
princely purple, seize upon the so-called delegated 
authority of St. Peter, and openly set upon its 
brow a triple diadem. 

Although the church is a Campo Santo for so many 
Popes, the two who best deserved a place among its 
dead, viz., Julius II. and Leo X., are buried elsewhere; 
one in "San Pietro ad Vincula," the other in "Santa 
Maria sopra Minerva." Julius laid the foundations 
of the Basilica; we are also indebted to him for the 
paintings of the Sistine Chapel, the Loggia of Bra- 
mante, and the Stanze of Raphael. Leo — a Medician, 



THE PANTHEON AND ST. PETER's. 87 

the son of Lorenzo the Magnificent — was likewise a 
patron of art, distinguished for his taste, learning 
and munificence; his reign has been styled the 
"golden age of Italian art and letters." There 
seems to have been something of kinship between 
the genius of Julius II. and that of Michael Angelo; 
they had the same powerful, herculean strength, and 
the "same unapproachable heroic grandeur of thought 
and conception. 

In the Sistine Chapel, we see the work of an Ath- 
lete — a Titan in art. Struggling with the force of 
his genuis, Michael Angelo seems to have wandered 
over the Roman Campagna, or along the Via Appia, 
or to have haunted the dark, ghostly solitudes of 
the Roman Forum, where, summoning from their 
sepulchres the heroes of antiquity, he made captive 
their mighty spirits, and almost with their living 
breath animated colossal creations born of his own 
delirium and despair — gods, yet men. At least, such 
must haye been the inspirations of the Last Judg- 
ment. On the walls of the Sistine are Sibyls brought 
from Delphic caverns and Lybian deserts, from Cu- 
maen grottoes, and even from distant Persia, all hav- 
ing the same forceful individuality, the same start- 
ling intensive reality. It seems as if the philosophies, 
the prophetic oracles, and the poetry crowning 
genius of Greece and Rome had arisen from their 



88 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

graves, and incarnated themselves in visible forms 
beneath the strokes of the master's hand. There 
are prophets, too, from Mount Carmel, from the 
Groves of Libanns, and from the desert regions 
beyond the sea; Isaiah, book in hand, looking toward 
heaven ; Jeremiah in sackcloth, meditating the Lam- 
entations of the children of Israel, of the captives 
by the waters of Babylon, and of the Queen — Jeru- 
salem — left solitary and desolate^ Ezekiel in ecstatic 
transports speaking his visions, half-visible shapes 
hovering about him, beating the air; and Zachariah 
aged and trembling, as if his prophecy had made 
the present quake with the fore-shadowed fears of 
the hereafter. 

I could not help finding a similitude in the smoke 
stains of incense and tapers, obscuring the sublime 
images of the walls of the Sistine Chapel, and 
the many misleading dogmas with which Roman- 
ism has sought to obscure the simple faith and 
teachings of Him of Nazareth. Each Pope has en- 
deavored, it would seem, to outdo his predecessoi ' 
in compilations as well as inventions, not the least 
monstrous being Pius Ninth's institutions of the doc 
trine of the Immaculate Conception, and later on his 
doctrine of Papal Infallibility. 



IX. 

BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. ST. PETER T S 

IN MONTORIO. 

To-day I am wondering if those travellers who 
can come to Rome, take a look, and go away sat- 
isfied, are not to be envied? There are many of 
this class here now, judging from those we encounter 
rushing hither and thither with seeming indifference 
or restless haste. They are never oppressed by this 
mighty Past, never lose their reckonings in this 
forest of pillars, or these fragment-strewn gardens, 
and are never perplexed by this populace in stone, 
this army of statues and friezes which puzzle others 
with such mysterious hints and strange queries. 

It was fortunate for us that we arrived so much 
in advance of Cook's legions, for thus in our pioneer- 
ing in churches and galleries and among monumen- 
tal antiquities, we have had plenty of elbow-room, 
if we have not always had all the light we needed. 
We were also here before the hosts that fly from 



90 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the summer "miasmata" to the seaside and the 
villages of the Alps and Apennines had returned; 
this gave us an opportunity to see something of 
the fashionable, pleasure-seeking Roman-world that 
lives always in the city of the Seven Hills, wintering 
on the Pincian and summering in the Piazza Colonna. 
The first few evenings after our arrival, we sat in the 
piazza with the Romans, listening to the music of 
the band, and between-whiles to that which was far 
more charming to our ears, the sweet, liquid lingua 
of the "bocca Romana"; its tones are deep, full and 
flowing, like the harmonies to which the spheres are 
tuned — a "noble speech." In the Piazza Colonna 
we see the especially characteristic life of the people, 
for there they are Romans all. There is a trait of 
dignity and seriousness in it, as there is in every 
phase of Roman life. Even the peasant from the 
Campagna walks like a prince, never forgetting the 
traditions of a noble lineage, and of rulers powerful 
and all-conquering, nor that Rome was once the 
heart and life of civilization — the queenly mistress 
of all the world. This proud loftiness is shadowed, 
however, by the fact of her after down-fall, and the 
sad effect of centuries of misgovernment, and conse- 
quent repression and perversion. Happily there is 
now over all the glow of a new, present shining — 
the star that rose radiant above the horizon on a 



BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 91 

certain 20th of September, heralding the consumma- 
tion of Italian Unity ; when all the people cried " Ev- 
viva la Roma nuova," and turned from the light and 
shade of the Past toward the dawn of a golden future. 
In the black-haired, brilliant-eyed and bright-com- 
plexioned women of the Piazza Colonna, we looked 
for the originals of the classic beauties sung by poets, 
but failed to find them, as also the veritable ones 
that artists paint. One thing we learned, and that 
was that the beauty of the women, like everything 
else Roman — language, literature, and art — sacrifices 
mere grace and loveliness to strength and majesty. 
In the elder matrons, we discovered that stately, 
statuesque queenliness of womanhood, which surely 
has no rival out of Central Italy, either in form or 
bearing. There is, too, a certain self-asserting in- 
dependence, a certain sternness and decision in their 
faces that harmonizes with their generally broad- 
shouldered and broad-browed developments, — such 
materials as Portias and Olympia Maratas were made 
of. We have seen in some localities, on the other 
side of the Tiber particularly, faces, or types, that 
interpret for us the female heads of the Capitol, Julia 
Pias, Faustinas, and Agrippinas. We saw a beauti- 
ful woman one evening — beautiful according to our 
standard — and she was a Roman too, a young prin- 
cess-born maiden. Her hair was in hue like the 



92 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

reddish gold of sunset toned by the shades of a 
quick coming twilight; had she loosened the massive 
tresses she would have seemed clothed with a raiment 
woven of the softest rippling radiance. Her eyes 
w T ere black — would have been as black as night but 
that they were luminous with the shining of some 
within heaven of light — a sort of moonlight filling 
of tenderness and thoughtfulness; and she had a 
transparent whiteness of complexion, beneath which 
blushed a budding rosiness, like the daw r n of a new 
May morning. In the " grazie " with which she 
thanked her attendant for a slight service, there was 
a whole cantanta, dulcis, clara, durahilis — the overflow 
of a soul full of sunshine and sweetness. We opined 
that southern sun and blood had sometime wedded 
a fair northern beauty ; or that one of Titian's pictures 
had taken on the graces and refinements of Eaphael, 
and come out to delight us. 

Apropos of pictures: w^e have seen the Beatrice 
Cenci of the Barberini gallery, the picture so often 
copied, yet never reproduced. Time has both injured 
and improved it — the injury resulting in # a half con- 
tradictoriness of expression, and the improvement in 
a peculiar quality of color — both of which effects it 
is not possible to simulate to any degree of perfect- 
ness. It is difficult to tell how much a previous 
knowledge of the so-called history of the picture 



BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 03 

may influence first impressions, but it seems to me 
one of the loveliest faces ever put on canvas; were 
I to see it daily for years, it would ever have for me 
a subtle, irresistible, haunting charm. The strange, 
inexplicable something ever eluding the grasp, which 
is so often spoken of, is sufficiently tangible, I think, 
to be defined: it is the half-shame, half-horror, which 
conscious innocence feels, knowing that upon it has 
fallen the stain of suspected guilt. It is evident that 
the artist, whether Guido or some other, believed the 
doomed girl to be guiltless, and intended the picture 
to proclaim his belief. She seems to have turned 
suddenly, and to be looking at one with an anxious, 
half asserting look of "not guilty"; this, with the 
sweetness and exquisite beauty of the face, the soft, 
tender brown eyes, the conscious helplessness, the 
patient, pathetic despair, makes it one of the saddest 
pictures conceivable; yet having once seen it, one 
returns to it again and again. The half-contradic- 
toriness is in an expression, or hint, of feeble mind- 
edness about the mouth (probably caused by the 
partial breaking of one or two lines); yet before it 
is fully recognized as such, there is a suggestion 
of strength, which becomes decided in the upper 
part of the face, and in the lines and pose of the 
head. If we may believe the author of " Beatrice 
Cenci, Storia del Secole XVL" Beatrice desired the 



94 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

artist to write "Innocente" in the corner of the 
picture. It would appear that, even though seem- 
ingly implicated in the murderous transactions for 
which so many suffered death, she wished to leave 
an authorized record of her innocence. We are not 
sorry to disconnect the worldly, conscienceless Guido 
with this lovely, world-famous work, as the best au- 
thority seems to compel us to do ; yet were it his, it 
would but prove the intense power of Beatrice's beauty 
and purity, in that it could so inspire such a man. 
The St. Michael in the church of the Capucini is 
much more in accordance with Guido's reputation as 
an artist. The angel has a studied grace and man- 
nerism quite perfect for mere prettiness; the only 
stamp of angelhood being in the head, which is 
beautiful, and in the face, which has something of 
heavenly purity and serenity. Yet one cannot help 
thinking that such an exquisite, elegant St. Michael 
would be sure to avoid coming in contact with an 
antagonist so essentially coarse and stupid as the 
prostrate fiend is represented to be. Viewed artisti- 
cally, as to color and composition, the picture may 
be fine ; but as an allegory, meant to teach or even 
suggest, any vital truth, it utterly fails. There is 
not the slightest hint of the one prominent fact 
which it should illustrate, viz. : the hand-to-hand 
conflict ever waging between the angel and demon 



BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 95 

in the human heart; yet what this struggle is, no 
one could know better than did Guido himself. 

Yesterday we spent on the other side of the Tiber, 
going first to the Palazzo Corsini, one of the stateliest 
and handsomest palaces in Rome. It was here that 
the brave Caterina Sforza found refuge, and that 
Michael Angelo visited the poet, Cardinal di St. Geor- 
gio; even Erasmus found hospitable welcome within 
its walls; of the "confabulations mellifluse" of the 
palace, he makes appreciative mention. The grand 
staircase is imposing in space and general form, but 
in ornamentation there is only a suggestion of the 
magnificence to which it leads. Its ascent is broken 
by a half-way landing, where, through a window, one 
gets a view of the gardens, amid whose dark ilexes 
and cypresses gleam the white of marble statues and 
the silver spray of fountains; where, too, there are 
laurels and dwarfed palm-trees and a few lingering 
roses. In the picture gallery we found the usual 
variety of Holy Families and Madonnas, Saints and 
Magdalens. There are several Ecce Homos, and 
among them Guercino's — by connoisseurs considered 
a masterpiece. Its great power lies in the expression 
of intense human suffering — the humanity of the 
Son forsaken by the Father. Guido's "Ecce Homo," 
in the same room, is quite unlike; there is the same 
suffering, but it is supported by the manifest pres- 



96 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

ehce of the God-like. All material representations 
of Christ, whether of His Passion or otherwise, fall 
so far short of our ideal conceptions of Him, that we 
take very little interest in them. In the fourth room, 
we found Guido's " Daughter of Herodias," which, 
though not a pleasing subject, is, as a picture, re- 
markable; the color is rich, the action of the figures 
natural, and the expression of the whole vigorous 
and strong. In the next room died Queen Chris- 
tina, the apostate daughter of Gustavus Adolphus of 
Sweden ; a card attached to one of the painted pillars 
informs us that she occupied the palace during her 
residence in Rome, and died there in 1680. All her 
famous collections have been scattered; herCorreg- 
gios are to be found in Paris and St. Petersburg, in 
London and in Dresden; her choicest MSS. are pre- 
served in the Vatican. It must be acknowledged 
that she made her favorite pursuit something more 
than a pastime, elevating it into importance as the 
handmaid of learning and art. Among the portraits 
of the gallery, one by Titian of Alexander Farnese 
interested us quite as much for the subject as the 
artist. The striking traits of Alexander's character 
are seen in the portrait — sagacity, fortitude, and 
possible self-sacrifice. We cannot but adiyire him 
as the most accomplished general of the sixteenth 
century, although snperstitiously the slave and tool 



BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 97 

of Philip II., prostituting to him all his splendid gifts. 
There are several paintings on wood by Fra Angelico, 
the artist born a saint. The principal one is a Last 
Judgment, on the sides of which are panels repre- 
senting the descent of the Holy Ghost and ascen- 
sion of the Virgin. The panels have much richness 
of color, and some beauty of outline, but their most 
striking quality is purity of tone and expression; 
together with a kind of celestial radiance seeming to 
emanate from within, and felt rather than seen, like 
the raptures of the beatified. Fra Angelico doubtless 
painted directly from the ecstacies and inspirations 
of his own spiritual nature, and herein is the key to 
his successes and his failures. I find that my first 
impressions of pictures do not always hold, and it 
may be so with the Carlo Dolci Madonna. It is kept 
in a glass case, as the treasure of the gallery, but to 
me it did not seem wonderful in anything except the 
fineness of the surface finish; in everything else 1 
should call it weak and sentimental. 

Descending to the Court, a custodian in the showy 
Corsini livery offered to admit us to the gardens, but 
we declined, having determined to spend an hour in 
the Farnesina and then walk up the slope of the 
Janiculum. To our great disappointment we found 
the Farnesina closed, and further learned that it 
was open only on Sundays, so we could not hope 



98 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

to see Eaphael's Galatea, and the other frescoes in 
the palace. It was built by Agostino Chigi, an opu- 
lent banker, who was a patron of letters and art. A 
copy of Pindar was printed in the palace under his 
eye in 1515, by a Venetian typographer. It is said 
that Eaphael first saw the Fornarina while at work 
in the Farnesina. The palace was, and is still, sur- 
rounded by a high wall; close to this wall was the 
baker's shop where La Bella Fornarina lived. A 
shop was pointed out to us as being the very one, 
and it is still used as a bakery. We saw a " fornarina " 
standing in the doorway, but could not by any pro- 
cess of idealization imagine that she resembled the 
one Eaphael loved and painted. 

Passing the " Porta Settimiana," we followed the 
"via delle Fornaci" up the hill. We found it a long 
and fatiguing way — fatiguing to both mind and body, 
— it being the same that once trembled beneath the 
tramp of the Goths, Visi and Ostro — leading from 
what was once the famous gardens of Julius Caesar 
to the distant summit from which descended the 
prophetic eagle of Tarquin; and whence Lars Por- 
sena, having been long encamped there, looking 
down upon the city, retired, when he had seen 
what Eomans could endure. A later and more sor- 
rowful memory is connected with the open space 
beyond the summit. There, in the trenches where 



BARBERINI AND CORSINI GALLERIES. 99 

they had laid down to rest, the little army of Lorn 
bards under Garibaldi was murdered in 1849. 

The via delle Fornaci leads into a fine carriage- 
road, built within a few years; the views from any 
point of it are magnificent. We continued our way 
up the hill till we reached the Fontana Paulina, 
which in its name holds a double memory, viz. : that 
of Fontana the architect, and of Paul V., by whom it 
was built. It is a handsome structure, the front ele- 
vated like the facade of a church, and having six fine 
granite columns, with intervening niches intended for 
statues. The water of the fountain is brought by 
an aqueduct from Lake Bracciano, thirty-five miles 
distant; and after serving the purposes of the foun- 
tain, is made further useful in turning some flour 
mills near the Tiber. Around the immense basin, 
into which the water falls, were gathered a dozen 
or more of washerwomen with their babes and bun- 
dles. Nothing could be more picturesque than this 
group, — so admirable a composition for a sketching 
tourist, that Bella at once transferred it to her "book." 
The inhabitants of Trastevere claim to be the direct de- 
scendants of the ancient Romans, and if the most pow- 
erful physiques, the most piercingly brilliant eyes, the 
greatest wealth of black locks, the richest bronziness 
of complexion, and the strongest, most emphatic dia- 
lect, are any proof, they can make good their claim. 



100 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

The modern gate, near the fountain, was built by 
the present Pope, to replace the one destroyed by the 
French in 1849. It was just without the old gate- 
way that Narses, after the defeat of Totila, was met 
by the then reigning Pope and Cardinals, and thence 
conducted in triumph to St. Peter's. Retracing our 
steps, in order to reach St. Peter's in Montorio, 
we encountered the hosts of beggars that infest the 
hill; all are now ticketed, and if we may believe 
their cards, each is a worthy object of charity. They 
seemed unusually enterprising, pursuing us even to 
the church steps, where, a Irate appearing, they 
presently dispersed. The church and convent oc- 
cupy the supposed site of the Crucifixion of St. 
Peter. The tribune and steeple, as also the west 
wing of the convent, were entirely destroyed during 
the siege of 1819. One of the chapels, belonging to 
the Barberini, contains some once wonderful paint- 
ings by Piombo, viz. : the Scourging of Christ and a 
Transfiguration; but on account of the inherent dis- 
abilities of the process — oil on stone — they have be- 
come so black that their outlines are scarcely trace- 
able. Raphael's Transfiguration was painted for the 
high altar of the church, and was kept here till it 
was carried off to Paris; fortunately, after its return, 
it was retained at the Vatican, otherwise it would 
have been destroyed with the tribune. Before the 



st. peter's in montorio. 101 

high altar the ill-fated Beatrice Cenci was buried, 
but with no monument, not so much as a mark in 
the pavement, to designate the spot. In the court 
of the Convent is Bramante's " Tempietto," a circular 
building, with a dome resting on sixteen Doric col- 
umns, nothing more architecturally perfect could be 
conceived. The upper part is used as a chapel, in 
the crypt is shown the very place where St. Peter's 
cross stood. We were favored with a few grains of 
sand scooped out of the hole, to keep as a relic. As 
I took mine, I wanted to ask the monk if the hole 
was not occasionally refilled; because it was not 
large — and how many bushels of sand must have 
been carried away! 

Standing before the little temple, one cannot help 
comparing Bramante and Michael Angelo as archi- 
tects, and awarding to Bramante the greater ex- 
cellence. It is in Michael Angelo's statues that we 
see and feel the solitary, unapproachable sublimity 
of his genius; he was essentially a sculptor, and 
his power, however manifested, never lost this one 
distinguishing and preeminent characteristic; it is 
the statuesque in his fresco-figures, even, that makes 
them so colossally grand, both in action and pose. 
When we recall the fact that his creations never 
seem so mighty, as when seen beneath the magnificent 
arches of Bramante, we can but think with regret, 



102 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

liow much the world has lost because they could 
not work together, each looking upon the other as 
a colaborer in the same - great enterprise. It is a 
thousand pities that Bramante's jealousy should 
have stood in the way of such a possibility. 

At the opportune moment, just at sunset, we came 
out into the open piazza in front of the church, where 
a scene of unrivalled beauty and indescribable splen- 
dor meets the eye. It embraces not only the city 
with its grand architectural features, glories of 
bronze and stone, domed and pinnacled, the Cam- 
pagna with its brown, rusty-coated cypresses, and 
long spirit-fingered palm trees, making somber, 
sentinel-like shadows, and the Tiber with its broad 
curves and handsome bridges, embracing the feet 
of the Janiculum; but also a long line of moun- 
tain ranges, reaching from Soracte to the further 
Alban hills — a line of classical sites aud towns — 
all lighted up by the warm farewell glow of the 
departing sun. We lingered there till the sounds 
of the sweet Ave Maria of the Convent, recalled 
our wandering thoughts, and we perceived that 
daylight would soon be lost in the gray n ess of 
coming night. We made haste to reach the bot- 
tom of the hill, where we found a cab and were 
soon on our way home. 



X. 



ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. 

On the 22d of November we attended the Feast 
of St. Cecilia in the church bnilt, according to tra 
dition, on the site of her house in the Trastevere. 
It is a locality usually weighted with silence and 
melancholy, but on this occasion bright and ani- 
mated as possible. The festa decorations — arches 
garlanded with paper flowers, fluted columns of 
red and yellow cotton, and gay canopies and hang- 
ings bordered with something other than gold — were 
lighted up by a broad in-pour of sunshine, which 
converted them into seeming marvels of richness 
and splendor. The altar was magnificent with its 
costly service of gold and silver, and its one hun- 
dred wax candles all ablaze! Nearly as many sil- 
ver lamps encircled the railed-off space of the 
shrine, their rays softening and making wonder- 
fully beautiful the sculptured image of the Saint 



104 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

lying within; which represents her, according to 
Maderno, the artist, as she was when found in her 
tomb. On the fore-finger of the statue's left hand 
was an immense diamond ring, said to be the vo- 
tive offering of a certain French lady of distinc- 
tion. We were told that the offerings at this fes- 
tival often amounted to many thousands of dollars. 
At the moment when the organ sounded, a Car- 
dinal with several attending priests entered, and 
the services commenced. I. heard only the music, 
which sometimes came in sweet, flute-like notes, 
such as hush all disturbing thoughts, and hold the 
emotions suspended in a delicious joy-dream; some- 
times in low plaintive strains like the pleadings of a 
soul in distress and conscious helplessness ; and then 
in volumes of loud and rapturous praise, which, as 
they rolled forth, filling every space, made even the 
vaulted roof tremble with their soaring, swelling vi- 
brations. When the services were concluded, and 
the audience mostly dispersed, the sacristan ad- 
mitted us within the enclosure of the shrine, that 
we might see the statue to better advantage. A 
gold band encircles the throat, as if intended to 
hide a wound, thus indicating the manner of the 
Saint's death. The sacristan informed us that while 
on earth she sang with such sweetness that the 
angels came down from heaven to listen to her; 



ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. 105 

and that even now, if one sits by her shrine dur- 
ing the night-time, he will hear the most heavenly 
music. 

On Thanksgiving morning we attended service 
in St. Paul's — the American Church. It was pleas- 
ant to think that the dear people at home were 
reading the same Liturgy, and singing the same 
songs of praise. After the service we had a little 
feast of our own — the "menu" and manner thereof 
being as nearly as possible after the old New Eng- 
land fashion, the spirit of merry-making not being 
wanting. 

On Christmas Eve, or rather "very early Christmas 
morning," the Pastorella, or Shepherd's Song, was to 
be sung in the Choir Chapel of St. Peter's, and al- 
though during the previous week we had attended 
one or two concerts, and also the " Vesper Musicals " 
at St. Silvestro, we determined to avail ourselves of 
this opportunity to hear the Pope's Choir. 

We set out a little before the appointed hour. The 
air was chilly, but the night had a tranquil, serene 
magnificence; the milky- way unrolled its broad belt 
of splendor, and the moon her soft, illuminating 
glory. Columns and monuments threw their sen- 
tinel-like shadows athwart our way, and palaces, like 
spectral giants, challenged our advance. There was 
a hush — a silence — over all; not a sound save that 



106 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of our carriage wheels on the pavement, or the 
murmur of falling water as we passed in the near 
neighborhood of some fountain. In the open square, 
leading to the bridge of Saint Angelo, there was an 
unobstructed flood of moonshine ; — it sought and pen- 
etrated every nook and corner, transforming broken 
cornices, projecting balconies, dilapidated palaces, and 
crazy, weather-worn barracks, into images of beauty. 
Even the angels and apostles of the bridge, in their 
softened, white shining, became glorified semblances 
of the heavenly ones — those who walk in the pure 
radiance of the light, — "that Light which lighteth 
every one that cometh into the world." Moon -rays 
played upon the waters of the Tiber, and crept over 
garden walls, mingling with the mysteries of the 
perfumes and blossoms. On the other side of the 
river rose the castle of Saint Angelo — built for a 
tomb, but changed into a fortress — all its thousand 
wounds of siege and battle healed — stones joined 
to stones, and columned porticos re -reared and 
linked together by silver bands — the bronzed winged- 
angel of the summit seeming in truth the celestial 
messenger of St. Gregory's vision, who, sheathing his 
sword, thereby promised the staying of the plague. 
As we drove into the square of St. Peter's — so shut 
in, and darkened by the shadows of its tall structures 
— the bell in the tower rang out on the still night 



ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETER's. 107 

air. The notes were not a merry Christmas peal, but 
slow and solemn, like the prelude of a grand anthem, 
or the first drum-beats announcing some stately cere- 
monial. The procession, accompanying the Cardinal 
who was to celebrate Mass, was passing through the 
vestibule into the church. 

The silent, and apparently deserted, street had 
quite misled us; for although early enough for the 
services, we were not early enough to get places 
within the chapel. It was packed to its utmost ca- 
pacity, as was also all the available space in front 
of it. However, before the singing of the Pastorella 
commenced, we succeeded in getting in such proxim- 
ity as to be able to see and hear the singers. 

No doubt externals — the hour, the place, the as- 
sembled expectant crowd, the pomp of the ceremonies 
— had something to do with the effect and felt 
significance of the music; certainly it produced a 
profound and never-to-be-forgotten impression. One 
had no desire, if he had the ability, to criticise the 
singing, or to think of the details or style of the com- 
position. If some of the voices were old and time- 
worn, I did not know it. I only knew that the 
Pastorella was the divinest music that I had ever 
heard. Never did the sweet spirit of song seem to 
take such a distinct and individual form, as, following 
the theme, I seemed to emerge from the shadows 



108 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of the sterile regions of the sea into the clear, bright 
light of the star-illumined heavens, and to journey 
onward in solos and choruses, with the questioning 
"Wise Men," and the attending choir of celestial 
voices, — on, to the grand, culminating finale: "And 
the star came and stood over where the young child 
lay." One could almost think he heard the rustle 
of angel-wings as they hovered over the place, or 
hurried down to earth, bearing the glad tidings 
which should be unto all people — " Unto you is born 
a Saviour which is Christ the Lord." 

The singing of the Pastorella lasted till nearly four 
o'clock, by which time the vast throng of people had 
thinned out somewhat, to our great comfort, giving 
us a little more breathing space and elbow room. 
We were nearly exhausted, not having been able to 
get so much as a leaning place during the whole 
time, and not daring to use our camp-stools, because 
of the danger of being overborne and trodden under 
foot; but as the Cardinal, acting as the Pope's proxy, 
was to receive the Communion, we desired to witness 
the ceremony, and so remained till the close of the 
services. 

Hoping to get a moment's rest, and not suspecting 
that my garments would desecrate the foot-stairs of 
the raised platform whereon sat the chapter of St. 
Peter's, I ventured to sit down on the lowest step; 



ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. 109 

but I was no sooner down than the guard, the man 
in the yellow and scarlet, made a rush at me, and 
with that peculiar, sharp, penetrative whisper that 
may be heard by everybody, projected into my as- 
tonished ear, " II est defendu." Of course I got up 
at once, and in some perplexity, not knowing exactly 
what to do; but seeing a vacant candelabra post, I 
betook myself to that, notwithstanding the candles 
were raining a shower of spermaceti, the full bene- 
fit of which 1 received with unexampled resig- 
nation. 

When the moment arrived for the continuance of 
the services which had been interrupted for the re- 
tiring of the choir, the Cardinal was relieved of his 
colored vestments, and robed in others of pure white 
■ — white cashmere and silk; white slippers were put 
on his feet, and white gloves on his hands. The 
priest who intoned this part of the service must have 
been nearly eighty years of age. Naturally it is to 
be inferred that his voice was not the freshest nor 
the fullest; but there was something in the worn 
but by no means broken tones, and the monotonous 
chant, which sent a sort of unearthly thrill through 
one. It was as if one had been made to look down 
upon the valley and the shadow of death, and into 
the land on the further shore whence came the sound 
of music, like the singing of psalms, and the giving 



110 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of thanks, such as they render, who, having won theii 
crowns, joyfully lay them at the feet of the Shining 
Presence. 

When the services were over, finding it would 
soon be daybreak, we decided to tarry and, from 
the steps of the church, see the sun rise. The peo- 
ple had mostly dispersed; only a group or two, 
possessed of the same mind as ourselves, remained, 
with here and there a solitary wanderer, waiting — 
perhaps with an unwonted burden — to be the first 
at the confessional. 

It was still midnight dark — that " darkest just 
before day." There were no lights, save the faint, 
trembling flames of the tall wax candles set at long 
intervals upon the pavement. A feeling of the in- 
finite in all its sublimity and solemnity, pervaded 
the whole vast interior — the deep and gloomy spaces 
filled with transient, flitting shadows; the grand im- 
ages, the stately forms, dimly discernible, which re- 
ceded and disappeared in a distant, impenetrable 
beyond. The mysterious, uncertain undulations of 
light and darkness seemed somewhat akin to phases 
of spiritual life — the uncertainties, the self-question- 
ings of the soul, seeking truth and righteousness; 
the soul, standing in the presence of Him whose 
face is as the sun, but whose light, to it, is veiled 
for a season. The heart, enlarged and made tender 



ST. CECILIA AND ST. PETERS. Ill 

in its love, involuntarily lifted itself in prayer to the 
loving, the universal Father, for all needy, seeking, 
suffering souls. 

But we had not long to wander in the grand, 
solemn stillness of this Cathedral night. The dome, 
towering far into the ether vault, caught the first 
gleam of the approaching sunrise, and thus illu- 
mined, revealed its gold and violet, its crimsons 
and its azures. We hastened to the steps. As yet 
there was no sign upon the line of the horizon, un- 
less it was a strange, faint, undefined purple. There 
was a moment of waiting : and then, not slowly, but 
suddenly, a crimson thread separated the celestial 
and the terrestial; soon after, the whole east was bril- 
liant — one grand and gorgeous illumination. Soracte 
gleamed afar with its coronet of flaming light; the 
cypresses and pines of the Pincian put off their 
gloom; and the tall Egyptian obelisk, for the time, 
exchanged its cold, gray white for a roseate bloom. 
As onward with rapid strides came the dawning day, 
the glorious King ! his crimson splendors, changed 
by the sky's elysian blue, became luminous and 
golden. The distant Campagna awoke at the warm 
touch — the dazzling, celestial light — awoke smiling 
and rejoicing in a fresh, resplendent beauty. An 
instant more, and the whole city was bathed in the 
auroral magnificence. The outlines of ancient walls, 



112 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the temples of stone, marble palaces, cross-tipped 
spires, machicolated towers, bronze domes, monu- 
ments and ruins — all, were re-created in the baptis- 
mal glow of the new-made morning. Even the 
place where we stood shared in the marvellous trans- 
formation; and we, pilgrims from the sunset, had, 
from the steps of St. Peter's, seen the sunrise ! 



XI. 

FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 

While the festivities with which the New Year 
had sought to enliven the sombre gravity of the 
seven-hilled city were yet at their gayest, we, feel- 
ing the south wind wooing us with its gentle breath, 
turned our faces toward the proposed limit of our 
wanderings — this Bella Isola, this land steeped in 
the golden sunshine. 

We found the road from Eome to Naples, by 
Velletri, San Germano and Capua, not only wonder- 
fully beautiful, but a via along which, like un- 
crowned kings, sit ancient sites and cities jealously 
guarding the past. 

Leaving Rome by the Porta San Lorenzo, one sees 
first the long line of the Acqua Felice in an atmos- 
phere of soft grayish purple, and soon after the 
broken, ivy-clad monuments and sunken, grass-grown 
tombs of the Via Appia; while in the distance, against 
the deep blue of the sky, rise the snowy peaks of 



114 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the Sabine and Alban hills, the slopes of the latter 
whitened by the villas and spires of Frescati. A 
little further, and the solitary walls of a monastery 
look out from the silence and mists above Monte 
Cavo; and beyond, above sloping vineyards and 
fields of winter-pale greens and dusky browns, glitter 
the turrets and towers of Castel Grandolfo. Not 
long after, we have a glimpse of Albano and Ariccia, 
clasping hands by means of an arched viaduct; then, 
Monte Circello, shiningly " clothed upon " with sun- 
beams, rises abruptly from the sea, and we fancy 
that we discover along the coast fishing-boats; not 
touching at the island of Circe as did the ships of 
Ulysses, but floating dreamily southward. Under 
the shadows of mountains, amid dark chestnuts and 
ilexes, appears Chevita Lavhjna (in guidebooks con- 
founded with the Lavinium of iEneas), and Velletri 
formerly of brigand-fame, but now noted for its wine ; 
and then we see Valmontone on a gloomy isolated 
volcanic peak. Passing between lofty summits, a 
halt is soon made at the foot of the chalky, sun- 
baked Volscian mountains, with forests so solitary 
and awful, and beyond which we know the broad 
plain of the Pontine Marshes stretches its tempting 
but fatal beauty to the sea; while through its lonely 
pines and beeches the winds sound their notes of 
lamentation. The road enters the well cultivated 



FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 115 

valley of the Sacco, and there among the Hernician 
hills are Veroli, Anagni, and Ferentino, with the 
mists and myths of their past clinging to them; 
among which we should lose ourselves, but that 
our attention is soon called to the beauty of Frosi- 
none on a distant height, bathed in a light of 
translucent silver-gray, and to Ceccano which lies 
on the slope of a mountain in the midst of vines 
and olive trees, its deeper colors lost in lighter hues, 
as its streets climb higher and higher into the aerial 
blue. 

There is no river scenery richer or lovelier than 
that of Italy, at least one thinks so as he crosses the 
bright, sunny-shored Liris, and enters the so-called 
"Happy Valley" through which it flows; a happy 
valley, in that its inhabitants — thanks to the enter- 
prising and inventive genius which has utilized its 
resources — are unusually prosperous. Here we were 
so fortunate as to see something of the remarkable 
and much praised beauty of the mountain peasants; 
at one of the stations were several who had come 
down from Sora. They were certainly very hand- 
some, both the men and the women being tall and 
strikingly well formed, with magnificent black eyes, 
strongly marked features, and rich olive complexions. 
The costume worn by the women is particularly pic- 
turesque, its bright colors effectively enhancing the 



116 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

dark splendors of their many charms. The head is 
covered Avith a white fringed cloth, hanging down 
upon the neck like a veil; over the white loosely 
plaited chemisette is worn a scarlet bodice, and the 
skirt, which is short, is of some dark color, usually 
red or blue bordered with yellow. The long gold 
chains around the neck, and the heavy, gold earrings 
with pendants, which the married women wear, re- 
semble those sometimes represented in Greek sculp- 
ture. The young girls wear coral chains, wound 
many times around their neck, and falling down 
over the white chemisette, which have a beautiful 
effect; their other ornaments are usually also of coral, 
but set in gold. One of the handsomest ones, who 
stood with her foot resting on a rude stone, a water 
jug balanced on her knee, looked as if she was pos- 
ing purposely that we might see what a splendid 
picture she would make. Bella, who always has 
her sketch-book at hand, sprang out of the carriage, 
hoping to make a "memorandum," but her efforts 
were futile, for she at once encountered such a 
barricade of outstretched hands, and such a storm of 
"uno biocco" and "mezzo biocco," that she was 
forced to return. And here was a puzzle for us, 
one that our small knowledge of political economy 
could not solve. In a valley where there are so 
many mills, the owners of which are said to have 



FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 117 

such care for the interests of the employe, and where 
the people are reputed to be generally so thriving, 
how could it happen that there should be such a 
crowd of beggars? and how could a valley where 
beggary so abounds be called "happy"? We put the 
queries that were perplexing us to one of our fellow 
travellers, an Italian. "The beggars! " he exclaimed, 
"why they are a happy lot! they prefer standing 
there in the sun to working in the mills. The beggars 
do not belong to the valley, but swarm here from the 
mountains because the line of the railway offers the 
best field for their operations; begging is their 
trade." That begging is a prominent branch of 
Italian industry, Ave had found out practically before ; 
but not that it is a recognized one, or that those who 
follow it are a "happy lot." The latter assertion, 
however, appeared to find a moiety of proof in 
a little boy who sat on the steps of the station, 
holding out his hand to every one, and asking in 
most pitiful tones for "un poco" in the name of the 
Virgin "bellissima, carissima"; but occasionally for- 
getting himself, and letting the two adjectives escape 
him in unmistakable, merry sing-song. There was 
roguishness evidently on a frolic beneath the long- 
drawn, sad face, which seemed in imminent likeli- 
hood of getting the better of the would-be pitifulness 
and sadness. He was not only exceedingly beautiful 



118 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

but very picturesque, with his bare feet, coat and 
trousers hanging in fringed tatters about him, and 
his remnant of a hat stuck on one side of his head as 
only a mountain breeze could have done it. Every 
one Avas anxious to give him something, and did, I 
think, although there was nothing in his manner to 
indicate that he had been more favored than others: 
one would suppose, to look at him, that he had re- 
ceived no more than his dues. We speculated on 
what his future might be, for there was surely the 
making of something out of the common way in him 
— would he become a statesman or a brigand? — 
quite probably the latter. 

Here in this valley one has no longer the violet- 
tinted Campagna; but in the background are the 
snow-covered peaks of the Abruzzi; and the beauty 
of the hills, which wall in the roadway, varied in 
character and outlines, and changing with every 
change of light or point of view, offers to the eye 
an exhaustless feast of delights. The town of 
Aquino, gay and bright on a mountain stream, does 
not forget that it has the honor of having been the 
birthplace of the satirist Juvenal, and of Thomas 
Aquinas; for at the station we were recommended to 
stop and make a pilgrimage to the town and the 
neighboring castle of Rocca Secca; the disinterested 
cicerone waiting there for our especial benefit, assur- 



FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 119 

ing us that no excursion would so well repay the 
trouble. We did not happen to believe him, but if 
at San Germano some one had told us the same about 
that and Monte Cassino we should have been more 
credulous ; as it was, the temptation to stop at San 
Germano was almost irresistible. While yet afar 
off, one sees the famous old Benedictine Convent of 
Monte Cassino, set high on a rocky peak of the Sam- 
nite hills, and looking as if it were the summit of the 
rock itself cut into architectural forms and adapted 
for habitation. There, on that peaceful, aerial height, 
Benedict, the Apostle of the mountains, fleeing, first 
from Rome and afterward from Subiacco, fixed the 
standard of the imperilled faith — the faith of the 
Cross — and founded a home to which scores of the 
faithful flocked. There they watched and waited 
with untiring zeal and unchanging love while the 
storm of battle raged on the plains — (Greeks, Van- 
dals, and Goths, each in turn striving for the empire) 
— watched and waited until on the Volturno at their 
feet, Narses was finally victorious over Teias, and 
with his legions returned in triumph to Rome. The 
Convent of Monte Cassino is one of the oldest and 
most distinguished seats of learning in all Italy; 
within its walls the arts and sciences have received 
fostering care, both being held as solemn trusts 
committed to its keeping. In its many-volumed 



120 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

library are stored the richest treasures of monastic 
industry, not the least of which are its many rare 
manuscripts. The brothers of Monte Cassino have 
always been given to more than ordinary freedom 
of thought and research, and have entered, it is said, 
sympathetically into every movement tending toward 
Italian unity; certain it is that they suffered in no 
wise during the storm that raged against Convent- 
ual institutions, very soon after Victor Emmanuel's 
occupation. Most of this we learned from one of the 
confraternity who came into our carriage at Tsolette. 
The crenellated towers of the Castle of Rocca 
Janula, half way up the mountain, overlook the town 
of San Germano lying at the foot, through which 
flows a bright limpid stream, with irregular flowery 
banks. The water is always low at this season ; so 
just above the bridge which we crossed, mid-stream, 
stood two washerwomen plying the skill of their 
craft, their improvised washboards being a pile of 
stones on which they "pounded out" their clothes. 
It was the first time we had seen the freedom of a 
whole river used as a washtub. In a spectacular way, 
the scene was not unpicturesque. The women stood 
ankle deep in the water, with their bright scarlet 
aprons thrown over their shoulders and hanging 
down like drapery, their arms bare, the sleeves of 
their chemisettes turned up and fastened to the 



FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 121 

shoulder-straps of their black bodices, and their white 
headdresses folded so as to cover only the top of 
the head, beneath which were heavy black locks, 
great dark eyes, and handsome faces — the Roman 
type quite lost in the Grecian. On a projection of 
the shore, shaded by an immense chestnut, played 
their four or five half-clad children — bright, beau- 
tiful, laughing life-bits in the landscape. But what 
a variety of lights and shades, and tones and color, 
was displayed — the river full of reflected forms; 
the soft green foliage of the banks, now and then a 
bit silver-tinted by the. stirring of a breeze; the in- 
describable azure of the atmosphere ; and the delicious 
purple of the ravines with which the sides of the 
mountains were covered! Above the summits of 
the mountains rain-clouds were gathering, and as 
we looked back, after leaving the town, we saw 
the sunlight yielding to the weird shadows of dark, 
heavy masses rising up behind the Samnites. First 
the Convent, then the Castle, and finally the town, 
disappeared, a gray vail shutting out all from sight. 
We made good speed, yet did not out-travel the 
rain till after passing Capua, reaching Naples only 
in time to be transferred to the steamer Calabria, 
which was to sail at ten o'clock for Palermo. From 
the deck of the steamer we had our first view of the 
child of Parthenope, bathed in a glitter of moonlight. 



122 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Softly-outlined heights rose above it, with great stars 
about their heads; for the moon had come in queenly 
state, a host of celestial ones attending her. -The 
waters of the bay had a surface of perfect calm, the 
foamy line where they laved the shore looking like 
a pearl-beaded girdle, above which reached out the 
white arms of the city, sparkling with a thousand 
jewel-like lights. Vesuvius rose darkly from the 
plain, its sometimes fiery crest wreathed with float- 
ing clouds. In the distance glimmered the beacon- 
fires of Procida and Ischia — the former a white cres- 
cent shape, lying low upon the water; the latter 
bolder, more superb, with gleaming castle turrets 
and the shadowy forms of olive groves and dark tufa 
crags clustered about the spent craters of Epomeo. 
Ischia is sacred to the memory of two heroic women 
— Constanza, the sister of the Marquis of Pescara, 
and Vittoria Colonna, his wife. To-day, however, 
one forgets the Marchesa of Pescara in the noble, 
devoted friend of Michael Angelo. Dreaming of 
Elysium by moonlight, we sailed over the mirror- 
like Tyrrhenian waters, stirred to a strange beauty 
by the breath of the night and the voice of legends 
from the shore; past the high- walled cape of Minerva, 
whence float the echoes of Odyssean melodies; under 
huge, frowning Caprian rocks; and out of both 
Elysium and moonlight, into the open sea. 



FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 123 

Every one has heard of the treacherousness of 
the Mediterranean; we now know something about 
it by personal experience. Despite the fairest prom- 
ises, a few moments after we had passed the last 
land-point, our ship was seized by some all-monster 
power, and beaten about with continually increasing 
fury, until every plank and beam in her trembled 
and shrieked as if in agony. All movable things 
took wings, and went flying about in the most 
reckless, turbulent disorder possible — not even we 
ourselves could stay as we were put. We watched 
for an opportunity to get to our berths, which were 
in the ladies' cabin, but we were no sooner settled 
in them than a great roll — leap rather — of the ship 
unceremoniously ejected us. We were forced to keep 
to the cabin floor, whither we had been cast, and 
where were already several of our agonized com- 
panions — the miseries of seasickness temporarily 
mastering the frenzies of terror. It could not long 
be concealed that our condition was critical, to say 
the least. Our boat was small, and not staunch cer- 
tainly, if as old as it was reported to be; and we 
were in the midst of a furious gale, with small 
chance of any change till we should come into the 
shelter of the Lipari islands. It was a fearful night;, 
only those who have had like experiences can under- 
stand all its terribleness. Yet it was not unrelieved 



124 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

by touches of the comic and the pathetic: — a young 
Neapolitan mother begged me to loosen from her 
neck a chain, to which was attached a small pic- 
ture of the Virgin, and fasten it around her baby's ; 
explaining that she wanted "the baby saved if she 
was not, for Gaitano had never seen it," — Gaitano 
being her husband, a militaire stationed at Paler- 
mo, whither she was going to join him. One of 
my nearest neighbors, who, not satisfied with what 
the ship was doing, had been continually bobbing 
up and down on her own account, suddenly clutched 
me by the arm, and cried out, "Do ask the Captain 
if there are lightning-rods on the masts and chim- 
neys"! A moment after, a water-jug, loosened from 
its fastenings, took to its own devices, and career- 
ing riotously down through the cabin, came into 
damaging contact with the post against which the 
woman was leaning. A ray of light dawned upon 
my comprehension; some like contact of the wo- 
man's head with the heavy objects plunging about, 
had caused her to see a flash of something — hence 
her anxiety about "lightning-rods"! 

At last, after long hours of anxious watching and 
waiting, daylight appeared, and just discernible in 
the southeast were the Lipari islands. Soon the 
storm abated somewhat, but not till late in the 
day did we succeed in making, and getting into, 



FROM ROME TO PALERMO. 125 

the wished-for harbor. As soon as we were in, we 

saw the genial face of Professor ,S ■ looking 

up from the sea of small boats in which we were 
seemingly casting anchor. He brought us at once 
to this place, prepared for us in the Piazza Oli- 
vuzza, just outside the Porta Macqueda, which is 
nearly as paradisaical a spot as one can conceive 
of while "here below." On our mantelpiece are 
exquisite vases in which are roses, large purple 
violets, and white blossoms with starry centres; on 
the table is an antique fruiterie, just ripened oranges 
filling it with a golden shining. One of our win- 
dows looks into a garden where there are oleanders 
red with flame, and magnolias that will erelong 
have great white flowers, such as we have in our 
South at home. At dinner, the waiter, stepping to 
one of the doors of the salle-a-manger (which is on 
the ground floor), plucked from a tree within sight 
lemons for our sardines — fresh sardines, and lemons 
just from the tree! what a delectable crowning of 
delights ! 



XII. 

PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 

The days since our arrival in this land of perpetual 
summer, have been like one long blissful dream — 
days steeped in "idle ecstasy." It is no wonder that 
the island was a fairy-land to the ancients, and that 
they peopled it with races answering to its peculiar 
poetic influences. According to local legends, here 
were reared the health-giving Artemis, Athena, the 
guardian of warm springs, and the flower-crowned 
Persephone ; and they loved, so says the legend, 
more than all else, these blooming plains breathing 
of violets and roses, and these smiling fields loaded 
at harvest-tide with gifts from the golden handed 
Ceres. The goddess, grateful for the finding of her 
long-lost daughter, made the island the object of 
her especial care. She did not foresee, I suspect, 
that the time would come, when the islanders would 
send her gifts of wheat and corn to other countries, 
and for their own use import inferior qualities. 



PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 127 

Nothing here is touched with melancholy, not even 
the ruins; bright ivies wander over them at will, and 
clusters of flowers blossom out of the crevices. And 
there are no days all sombre; in our experience, no 
days without sunshine, not even during what is 
called the rainy season. The forces of nature act 
with a sort of volcanic haste, so that the heralds of 
a rain storm are swift- winged messengers; there is a 
sudden gathering of clouds about the summit of 
Monte Cuccio — grand cloud forms, such as are made 
by stormy seas and mountain fires — and at once the 
rain is upon us, descending not gently, but in tor- 
rents. Nevertheless, in a few moments after, it has 
ceased, the sun shines as genial and bright as if 
clouds and rain were unknown; and one may go 
wherever he likes — to stroll in the English Gardens, 
or sit under the trees in the park on the other side 
of the piazza. It is not customary for ladies to walk 
in the public parks, or the streets either, for that 
matter, unattended; so we appreciated the kindness 
of Prof. S , in procuring for us the keys of a pri- 
vate park near by, where we walk all day long and 
never meet a soul. The park belongs to Prince 

T , who, having a Hesse Darmstadt lady for 

wife, spends much of his time in Germany; other- 
wise we should not have his beautiful park to our- 
selves. There is scarcely a flower native to the 



128 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

island that is not to be found here, as well as many 
brought from distant climes. Lemon trees mingle 
their foliage with the brightness of the mulberry 
and the dark luster of the pomegranate, while just 
now the orange trees have the beauty of both blos- 
som and fruit. Unlike the first dwellers in Para- 
dise, of the fruit we may pluck and eat. 

Our thoughts go out to all the invalids in the 
world, wishing for their sakes, not ours, that they 
might come here. To our present thinking, there 
cannot be an ill of body or mind for which this sun 
and this air have not the cure. In "The Olivuzza" 
wo have only people who, believing in the "penny- 
worth of prevention," journey to Sicily that they 
may not become invalids. These, having the leisure 
and the inclination, entertain as a "familiar" the 
spirit of merry-making. To this healthful entertain- 
ment, no one contributes more than a Russian family 
spending the winter here. They are friends of Prof. 

S , so it was not long before we were invited to 

their " Eight o'clock teas." A Russian tea is not 
after the manner of a New England one, although 
quite as important, being the social event of the 
day. The tea is brought from St. Petersburg, also 
the teapot, and the wherewithal for concocting the 
beverage. It is a novel "assistance," the sitting by 
while the tea is being made ; the stone-like apparatus 



PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 129 

for the making standing in the center of the parlor 
and seeming to be, in the household of our Russian 
friends, what the hearthstone is — or was once— 
for us. 

Palermo does not, like most cities of marvellous 
beauty of situation and legendary and historic in- 
terest, dispel all romance, or destroy all poetic sug- 
gestions, when one enters its streets. Even there, 
one seldom loses sight of the wonderful variety and 
contrasts of shades, tones and colors of the Conca 
d'Oro, in which the city lies like an opal in a gor- 
geous setting, or of the deep sea tints embraced by 
the pearl-like whiteness of Castellamare and the 
Piazza Marina, or the lofty, rugged, amethystine 
masses of Monte Pellegrino, or the magnificent 
forms of the mountains that rise precipitously in 
the background, their summits folded about with 
radiance. The architecture of the city is perhaps 
more curious than elegant, preserving in many struc- 
tures the striking characteristics of the various peri- 
ods of its history. As in most South-Italian towns, 
the modern houses have flat, terraced roofs, which 
afford charming views; the portals of even the most 
ordinary are much ornamented, and usually sur- 
mounted by the arms of the princes, or other titled 
persons to whom they belong. Apropos of titles, 
nothing is ever lost in that matter by Palermitans; 



130 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the shopkeepers address each other as " most illus- 
trious," "most learned," etc. A pleasing feature of 
the buildings, and one which adds life and variety 
to the streets, is the many over-hanging balconies; 
for toward evening these are filled with lively, gaily 
dressed groups, such as have not sought the Marina 
or the Villa Giulia. 

Among the cities formerly distinguished for the 
number of their convents and monasteries, Palermo 
was prominent. Her streets literally swarmed with 
priests, and behind the lattice-work enclosing many 
balconies were seen the black-clad figures and white 
coroneted faces of nuns, who were probably not 
averse to taking a little peep now and then into the 
world which they had forsworn. It was in Palermo 
that one of the most formidable insurrections against 
the suppression of monastic institutions broke out, 
which was itself suppressed only after much blood- 
shed. At that time our friend, Prof. S , left his 

chair to take temporarily his old place in the army. 
In 1860, he was a volunteer under Garibaldi, and 
glories in having been under fire both at Calatamifi 
and Melazzo. The once conventual buildings are 
now used for schools and other Government pur- 
poses. In that of St. Domenica, near the University, 
the Professor has his present lecture room, as also 
several archaeological collections. His collection of 



PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 131 

coins was commenced by his mother, who, accord- 
ing to her biography in the University library, was 
a very learned woman from Termini. She taught 
her son so well in the art which she had made her 
specialty, that at eight years of age he could classi- 
fy her store of some thousands of coins according to 
their historic periods, and repeat the chief events 
of each without a mistake. She also made a collec- 
tion representing all the varieties of fish found in the 
Mediterranean, which she arranged with an eye to 
effects of colors, a very marvel of beauty and of 
numbers. Her biographer does not hint that she 
departed from the ordinary ways of her sex, by 
the deprecating finale so common in like cases, 
"Yet she neglected .no duties of wife and mother"; 
he leaves that to be taken for granted. If we read 
aright the signs visible in recent events, the time 
is not far distant when the women of Italy will 
regain their lost rank in the kingdom of letters, 
when it may once more be said, "Italy! the land that 
opens to woman all paths to honorable and glorious 
achievements, generous land, refusing not to her 
even a share of laurel crowns." 

Prof. S has published several volumes on the 

coins of the most brilliant period in the history of 
the island, viz. : the Grecian. A volume illustrating 
the reigns of Hiero king of Syracuse, and Theron of 



132 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Agrigentum, with many of the coins of the periods, has 
happily found its way into my possession. The coins 
send. a pleasant thrill through the sensitive fingers 
of one who delights in numismatic relics; for from 
them shine forth the glories of the two once most 
splendid Sicilian cities. The finest, most precious 
of the coins, are those which celebrate the victories 
of Hiero and Theron in the Pythian and Olympic 
games — victories song of by Pindar. 

It goes without saying that we have seen the 
treasures of the University Museum — the Earn of 
Syracuse, famous as the best metal-cast of antiquity; 
and the Metopae of Silenus, with one exception the 
oldest specimen of Greek sculpture, and one which 
retains traces of the Oriental parentage of Greek 
art; also some fragments brought from Silenus, that 
are interesting, and would be instructive in the study 
of ancient polychromy. 

For visiting the Palazzo and the Cappella Reale, 
we were handed over to the ciceroneship of a young 
priest, belonging to the Cappella chapter. We had 
been advised to go during the morning service, as 
the solemn chanting, the rich dresses of the cele- 
brants, the upward-floating clouds of incense, and the 
early sunlight upon the mosaic walls, heightened 
very much the peculiar poetic effect of the interior. 
We followed the friendly counsel given us, and were 



PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 133 

not sorry. Never have we seen anything more Rem- 
brandtish, out of the great apostle-of-color's own 
canvas, than this small chapel, built by King Roger 
in 1130. Although preserving, in the main, many 
peculiarities of Norman architecture, he employed 
Grecian and Saracen workmen for building both 
palace and chapel. In the latter, the capitals of 
the columns are distinctively Grecian, while the 
arches reposing on the columns are as character- 
istically Saracen. There is a very graceful and effec- 
tive mingling of the best qualities of both styles in 
the dome, the marble panels lining the aisles, and 
the small slightly pointed windows, through which 
comes the so-called dim religious light. The mosaics 
are Greek or Byzantine, the subjects taken from 
both the Old and New Testament Scriptures. It 
must be acknowledged, however, that none of them 
have any great beauty of form or expression, but they 
are quaint in design; and their bright colors and 
clear outlines, spread over the gold ground of the 
interior, give it an elaborate gorgeousness, which, 
though somewhat subdued by the intentional omis- 
sion of strong side lights, is still signally striking, 
and to which the richly fretted roof adds its pecu- 
liar quota of splendor. In the spaces of the dome 
and the three apses, the figures seem to float in a 
golden atmosphere, not only the angels but the 



134 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

apostles. There is a still smaller chapel, of little 
interest except that in the Sacristy we saw the 
" Act of Foundation " of the Cappella Reale, written 
in gold on purple silk, a proof that the Norman 
kings imitated the ostentatious splendors of the 
Byzantine emperors, even in the matter of such- 
like documents. 

The Cathedral of Palermo, occupying the site of 
an ancient Saracenic mosque, was built during the 
reign of the Norman, William the Good. It presents 
a strangely incongruous mixture of styles — every one 
that has prevailed since its foundation in 1165 being 
represented. The handsomest and most striking fea- 
ture of the exterior is the south front, which approxi- 
mates to the Gothic, the only style of church architect- 
ure seeming to be truly the outgrowth of the Christian 
faith. The elaborate ornamentation — a combination 
of Gothic and Grecian — is particularly rich, a piece 
out of the realm of wonders ! The interior is wholly 
modernized, and contains nothing interesting except 
some graceful sculptures in the niches of the choir, 
and two chapels, the King's and Sta. Rosalia's. The 
King's has four canopied monuments, in the sarcoph- 
agi of which repose the bodies of King Roger, his 
daughter, his son-in-law, Henry VI., and his grandson, 
Frederic II. ; and on the walls, inlaid in marble, is a 
record of the privileges granted to the city by the 



PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 135 

latter. He amended the charter of King Koger by 
diminishing the power of the nobles and introducing 
a system of representation ; a ground- work for Sicilian 
independence, which the people of his capital have 
never forgotten. 

The chapel of Sta. Eosalia, near the high altar, has 
fine pilasters, with marble sculptures by Gagini; the 
sarcophagus enshrining the bones of the saint, is of 
silver and weighs 1300 pounds. Sta. Kosalia has been 
the patron saint of Palermo since her signal deliver- 
ance of the city from a fearful pestilence early in the 
17th century. The event is celebrated by a yearly 
festival, when her magnificent car is borne through 
the streets, followed by senators and clergy and a 
populace extravagant in its demonstrations of ecstatic 
joy. The Cathedral is ablaze with twenty thousand 
wax lights, and there are fireworks in all parts of 
the city, which reveal its white architectural forms 
and illuminate even its broad girdle of mountains. 

A little before twelve o'clock, there was a crowd of 
people in the soi^h aisle of the Cathedral, that we 
supposed to be waiting for the midday Angelus. It 
was not long, however before we were undeceived, 
by seeing that many persons held watches in their 
hands, and that their eyes were the while fixed on 
the pavement. Our cicerone soon informed us that 
the object of the watching and waiting avus for the 



136 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

sun's approach to the meridian line traced on the 
pavement; he added that just such a crowd came 
every day, and had come for centuries, some from mere 
habit, others for the actual purpose of regulating 
their timepieces. It was a novel sight for us, this 
custom of the Palermitans; and especially were we 
surprised to note that the crowd was made up of 
every condition in life, from the beggar in his rags 
to the prince with his equipage and attendants. As 
soon as the sun reached the line, all,' turning quickly 
upon their heels, departed, except one " poor old blind 
man," who, stooping, traced with his finger the edge 
of the bright sunbeam, lingering over it and follow- 
ing it, as it crept onward from beneath his fingers, 
with evident delight; a type of that of the blind 
of soul, when they have found even the slightest 
ray of divine light, or feel the least warmth of love 
descending from the over-full heavens. 

The Palermitans are accused of having the faults 
incident to a southern climate; to wit, suspiciousness, 
hastiness of speech, disregard of plighted obligations, 
etc. If these are their sins, we have not found them 
out; and if we had, we should not deem it fair to 
lay the blame to their sun and sky, but rather to 
years of bad government and defective political in- 
stitutions, the effects of which have not yet been 
eliminated by the new regime. We find it a little 



PALERMO; UNIVERSITY AND CATHEDRAL. 137 

singular that, with a people so imaginative and vi- 
vacious, there should be such a lack of popular 
amusements; and we are querying if this may not 
be one reason why the streets are so insecure; for 
some of the recent happenings, the capture and rob- 
bing of people within the limits of the city, have 
been proved to be by the native populace, and not 
by professional brigands. The people want amuse- 
ment, otherwise they have too much unoccupied time 
on their ever-ready hands. Palermo and its vicinity 
continues to be, what Byron called it, a purple land. 
One of the leaders of a band of brigands was lately 
captured among the mountains south of the city, and 
for the past week has been confined in the barracks 
near the English Gardens. Yesterday, to our great 
relief, we saw him marched off to more secure quar- 
ters. Physically he was a superb looking fellow; he 
walked with an erect, defiant haughtiness that in- 
dicated no recognition of crime in his deeds. We 
were at a loss to understand why it required a whole 
company of soldiers to guard one man, but it was 
explained that his colleagues were thought to be 
concealed in the neighborhood, for the purpose of 
attempting a rescue. A few moments after the gov- 
ernment troops with their charge had passed through 
the streets, a young girl, enveloped in flames, rushed 
out of the building in which the brigand had been 



138 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

kept, and flying across the piazza, sought refuge in 
the little lodge near the park gate. It is conject- 
ured that she was in some way connected with a 
since discovered plan to release the brigand chief. 
Speaking with our host of the recent capture of 
some travellers, and the danger of mountain travel- 
ling, he admitted that there was some danger in the 
mountains, but added that Palermo was a safe city 
compared with New York, for in the latter place, 
even at table, the master of the house always had a 
revolver at his side. Mr. R had evidently ob- 
tained his information from sources not quite reliable, 
but when he brought me a New York paper to prove 
his assertion, and I looked over the list of murders 
and robberies, I was not surprised that foreigners get 
erroneous ideas in regard to us.- And now that I 
ponder the matter, I am not so sure that Palermo 
is more insecure than New York, even allowing for 
the difference in population. Brigands sounds a lit- 
tle more sanguinary, is a little more startling than 
robbers, or burglars even, but the difference in the 
main is not great; and the frequency — I think I may 
say the percentage — of crime is in disfavor of our 
own city. 



XIII. 

PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 

There has been infinite delight in the experi- 
ences of the past week, particularly for those of 
us interested in Saracenic-Norman architecture. Go 
where we will, there is some fascinating remnant of 
this period to challenge our .admiration. We have 
been here long enough now to be able to adjust 
tolerably the focus of our observations, and under 
the tutelage of Prof. S , have learned to distin- 
guish with some facility the chief characteristics of 
each style. One of the most charming and remark- 
able specimens of the aforesaid Saracenic-Norman — 
one to which we have quite lost our hearts — is La 
Cuba, outside the Porta Nuova. In the same build- 
ing are seen traces of the sumptuous elegance of 
Saracen emirs and the ostentatious magnificence of 
Norman kings. Fazello, a -writer of the sixteenth 
century, gives a detailed description of its splendors. 
All that remains for our delectation is, in the palace, 



140 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

some very beautiful decorative honeycomb work, 
some inscriptions, nearly illegible — illegible not only 
to us but to the most scholarly Egyptian — and one 
small vaulted pavilion. This last has four single, 
pointed arches, ornamented with exquisitely carved 
mouldings; while its dome is graceful in lines and 
proportions, despite distinctive Egyptian solidity — 
a characteristic appertaining to the whole structure. 
In this pavilion one recognizes the model of several 
churches — those which give the Moorish features to 
the architecture of the city, and at first sight so de- 
ceive the traveller as to their date and origin. 

La Martorana, a church built by George of An- 
tioch, High Admiral of Roger I., is a curious example 
of the deceptiveness mentioned. Although it suf- 
fered a Byzantine change when annexed to a neigh- 
boring convent, the upper stories of the campanile 
retain the billet mouldings and relievo-embroidery 
seen in La Cuba; and its Arabic text is recognized 
in the inscriptions on the columns of the interior. 
In one of the notable pictures, the Admiral has pre- 
sented to the Virgin a scroll, at the bottom of which 
is written "The Prayer of George the Admiral." 
Bella, who is always seeking for the deepest possible 
meanings, discovers that by the " Prayer " is indi- 
cated, not the scroll, but the church, — an idea more 
poetical than real, probably, for the Norman mind 



PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 141 

seems to have had little thought of expressing spir- 
itual emotions or aspirations in architecture. 

San Giovanni degli Eremiti, the church first to 
sound the alarm at the time of the massacre known 
as the Sicilian Vespers, has the grouped cupolas of 
the Saracenic style, as well as many others of its 
effective outbursts of richness and elegance. The 
interior is perceptibly ambitious of Oriental splendor 
in the details of ornamentation; the altars are over- 
laid with bewildering arabesques, the stately columns 
support arches faced with honeycomb work, and, in 
the angles and on the corners of the capitals beneath 
the dome, are the corbels and other bracket-penden- 
tives, peculiar to the genius of the Saracenic. Only 
its form (that of a Latin cross), its many altars with 
lighted tapers, and its confessionals, indicate its 
Christian purpose. 

In Sicily as well as in Paris, English and Ameri- 
cans alike seem to forget their home-taught reverence 
for Sunday. They even out-do the gay pleasure- 
loving Palermitans in their disregard of the sacred- 
ness of the day; for the latter do go to church in 
the morning, but of the former, only a very small 
proportion is ever seen at service in the English 
chapel. There are many English and some Ameri- 
cans resident here, and their fraternizing socially 
was at first a puzzle to me, bearing in mind the 



142 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

proverbial English exclusiveness. But an elderly 
Englishman who sits near us at table explained, 
"They are in the same boat socially, and cannot 
hide the fact from each other, all being engaged in 
trade — buyers of oranges and wines for houses at 
home." The German, unlike the American or Eng- 
lishman, is unpretentious wherever you find him. 
If he is a buyer of oranges, etc., he accepts his posi- 
tion as the just allotment of heaven, never desiring 
to seem other than he is, and renders deference to 
titled personages with a readiness that seemingly 
has not a shadow of envy in it. We have at our 
Olivnzza table d'hote, the German buyer and the 
German baron; the latter is also a scholar. He is 
on his way to Cyprus, sent thither by the Prussian 
Government to superintend some archaeological re- 
searches. That he is the emissary of an economical 
government is evident, else he would not suspend 
the conventionalisms of his rank and dine at the 
table d'hote. 

We have just now another specimen of German 
nobility in our house, and of quite another sort, 
the Countess of A , mother of the lovely Prin- 
cess T . Owing to certain peculiarities which 

signally interfere with the Prince's love of domestic 
quiet, the Countess cannot live at the palace, even 
when on a visit to her daughter ; and thus it happens 



PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 143 

that when she is in Palermo, she honors with her 
patronage the Olivuzza, it being the nearest eligible 
residence. The Princess' landau comes mornings to 
take the Countess out for an airing, and the state 
coach afternoons to take her to pay visits, both of 
which events are foreshadowed by certain strange 
sounds within her dressing-room; which, fortunately 
or unfortunately as one may chance to judge in the 
matter, adjoins our parlor. We are thus compelled 
to be often unwilling auditors of the noble lady's 
singular proceedings. When we hear a sudden, vio- 
lent thump against the wall, as if it were hit by one 
of many instruments appertaining to the administra- 
tion of a lady's toilet, we, Bella and I, full of sym- 
pathy for all oppressed, utter a simultaneous excla- 
mation of thankfulness, knowing that the maid has 
saved her head from the threatened breaking by a 
happy dodge. When the Countess is attended to 
her carriage, be it the morning landau, or the after- 
noon coach, she is as regal and smiling as could be 
expected of a queen regnant; one would suspect 
nothing of the confusion and carnage through which 
she had attained the glossy locks and rosiness of 
complexion so becoming to her stateliness. We are 
never blessed with the sight of her most distin- 
guished Sereneness, except when she makes her en- 
trees and sorties. 



144 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

But why linger in the house when one may go to 
the mountains — to Monreale ! It was a lovely morn- 
ing; the mountain's kingly sun-crowned head and 
majestic form, clothed with shadows, rose in stately 
grandeur beyond a foreground dotted with foliage, 
and overspread with the scintillating glow of tremu- 
lous purple and amber hues. Human interests were 
overshadowed by the rich and glorious inanimate 
Nature before us; the sweet influences of the pure 
mountain air, and joyous thrills of renewed vital 
powers, seemed somewhat akin to the spiritual quick- 
enings and delights of the being "born again." We 
met contadini coming into the city, but only noted 
how picturesque they looked — how they fitted into 
the landscape. When we heard the charming Sici- 
lian dialect (Sicilian must have been the vernacular 
of Paradise), we called it one of the sounds of the 
landscape — a bit of its melody ; never thinking to sep- 
arate the blameless Greek from the luxurious Oriental 
or the sonorous Spanish from the delicious inwrought 
work and setting of modern Italian. The road up 
the mountain offered only the incidents of deep 
runnels for water, its own white glare and that of 
the solid masonry walling it up, with occasionally 
vases or plaster figures along the parapet of the wall. 
The easy windings and unadventurous stretches of 
the road came to a sudden halt and surprise in the 



PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 145 

squalor, misery, and smallness of the piazza in front 
of the great Norman magnificence, the Cathedral of 
Monreale. 

The Cathedral is indebted for its site — if debt 
there be in the matter — to the fact that King Wil- 
liam, when hunting, was overcome by fatigue, and 
lying down to rest, happily fell asleep. In the 
vision of his sleep he was directed to build a church 
on the very spot where he had enjoyed the blessed 
refreshment. Thus it happens that the Cathedral 
stands on the side of the mountain, which is unfortu- 
nate for the conditions of seeming rectitude in its 
posture, but it stolidly defies and bravely conquers 
them, particularly on the side toward the valley. 

In the exterior of the structure there is nothing 
royal, except the royal grandeur of its size, but it 
has many pleasing varieties of architectural and his- 
torical expression, and unmistakably hints at the 
boasted intention of the king "to surpass if possible 
all his former efforts." This hint is seen chiefly in 
the great portal of the west front, which is elaborate 
in devices and exquisite in color. We saw it with 
masses of light lying on the relievos of the Grecian 
scroll work and angular, zigzag Norman mouldings, 
— such masses as bring out the strong tints and 
shapely lines of the mosaics, while they deal tenderly 
with coyer tints and the shadows stolen into intaglio 



146 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

depths. The massive Norman tower stands up stur- 
dily and proudly like an enthroned king in his 
might, its simple strength and grand impressiveness 
demanding nothing from Greek refinement or Gothic 
exuberance. How the majesty of a great Cathedral 
dwarfs all smaller architectural expressions! it touches 
the key-note to our noblest thoughts and loftiest 
aspirations. 

Our progress was arrested by two sleeping cherubs, 
impromptus from the piazza, "who were lying before 
the great closed doors, as unconscious of their superb 
bronze magnificence as of the admiration called forth 
by their own rosy, picturesque beauty. When the 
doors — the work of Bonano of Pisa — were suddenly 
thrown open, what a vision of glory, a very hallelu- 
jah of color, burst out of the rich, delicious half- 
shadow in which all lay! The broad avenue-like 
nave between its multitudinous massive columns of 
different colored marbles, stretches itself far away 
into the dim remoteness of transepts and the strik- 
ing, dominating gorgeousness of the central apse; 
the walls are covered with gold overlaid with mo- 
saics, which if wanting in luminousness, lack nothing 
in design or in brilliancy of hues — scarlet and ruby, 
topaz and sapphire, ambitiously emulating one an- 
other. In an open space in the choir stands the 
sarcophagi of kings, that of William the Good having 



PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 147 

the most conspicuous place. The wonderful carving 
of the roof of the Cathedral is the marvel crowning 
all; one could spend a long time studying its 
exquisite details — as fertile in poetic inventions as in 
grace and beauty of execution. 

Although the Cathedral exercises the usual hos- 
pitality of Komish churches, welcoming alike the 
beggar in his rags and the king in purple and 
ermine, there was, in all its perfect, holy hush of 
aisles and altars, but a single worshipper — a young 
man. He bore no pilgrim's staff, or other insignia of 
his faith, but in the handsome, reverent face there 
was a touching tenderness, awe, and penitence, that 
found expression in the half-audible voice of a sad, 
sweet, but hopeful entreaty, which would surely reach 
the ear of the compassionate One. 

Across the small piazza is the entrance to the 
monastery ; which however was forbidden to us, 
except one room used as a library. In descending to 
this room, we stopped to examine Pietro Novelli's 
famous picture, which is on the side wall of the 
staircase. It represents St. Benedict distributing to 
his chiefs the rules of his order, in the symbolical 
form of "bread. Its meaning blossoms readily out of 
its elemental parts, — its atmosphere, graceful forms, 
golden tones, and its one pertinent and striking sym- 
bol. If one may not live by bread alone, it is never- 



148 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

theless the chief support of physical life; so if one 
may not live by rules alone, they are main helps in 
the necessary discipline and order of spiritual life 
and growth. The cloister, on the south side of the 
Cathedral, is all that remains of the ancient Bene- 
dictine Convent. It is in a sadly neglected condition ; 
many of the mosaics have fallen from the vaulting of 
the roof, and a sort of deserted, rusty, melancholy 
stillness pervades the air. The two hundred and 
sixteen slenderly clustered columns are arranged in 
pairs except at the corners, where they are quadru- 
pled. They are the most beautiful specimens that 
we have yet seen of the style in which the Norman 
kings delighted, the Grecian-Saracenic. The capitals 
have a millionairic wealth of artistic achievement, — 
exquisite combinations of flowers and fruit, wreaths 
of fanciful, subtile grace, and luxuriant but delicate 
vines, seeming to depend from handsome corbels. 
There are also grotesque figures, which lack nothing 
in variety and strength; and there are even scenic- 
combats, touches of Norman taste. 

On the terrace of the hillside — the garden plateau 

of the Convent — we encountered Prof. S and 

Padre M , returning from San Martino, where the 

former had been superintending the first drawings 
(those in pencil) for his new work on Sicilian Archae- 
ology. We congratulated Padre M on his re- 



PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 149 

cent vindication before the Ecclesiastical Tribunal, 
and his consequent discharge by that still all-power- 
ful body. But why we (Protestants) should have 
done so, I am unable to comprehend. On second 
thought, we ought to have congratulated him on 
having been arrested; a charge of heresy (i. e., a 
leaning to Protestantism) is nothing so woeful in 
these days of " Catholic Reform." Yet I suspect 
that movement has found little support in this part 
of the Island. If we may judge from what we see, 
it is here either Romanism unquestioned or an abso- 
lute rejection of all faith. Padre M has many 

friends, and a little more agitation and investigation 
before he was released and reinstated in his place 
in the Chapter of the Cappella Reale, might have 
been the means of disseminating some healthful 
knowledge. 

Directing our attention to the scene of unparalleled 
beauty that lay before us, Bella suddenly exclaimed, 
" How thankful I am that I was born." Although it 
was seeking rather remote "first causes" for grati- 
tude, we shared her enthusiastic ecstasy. If the eye 
be appreciative, the richness and beauty of the plain 
of Palermo tests one's sense of delight to the utter- 
most. At our feet were blooming oleanders, thick- 
ets of prickly pears, and orange groves with their 
velvety foliage and odorous breath. Further away, 



150 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

in the direction of Monte Grifone, clusters of round- 
topped pines nodded in idle abandon their grave 
dusky heads; aloes here and there rose twenty feet 
out of great cups of root leaves, vines clinging to 
and relieving their stiff unfanciful formalism; and 
immense cypresses and gigantic yew-trees flung over 
the plain their long shadows, charged with the pon- 
derous memories of hundreds of years. On the curve 
of the wave-washed shore lay the white city in a 
deep, shady stillness, with an occasional gleaming of 
pinnacles and mosque-like cupolas, — the lofty, brown, 
rugged, wall-like masses of Pellegrine and Grifone 
saying to the encroaching sea, " Thus far and no far- 
ther." Beyond their dark line, sailing-vessels, un- 
winged for want of a breeze, dozed in a dreamy lull- 
aby calm, while upon the distant line of the horizon, 
where the sweet heavenly blue came down to meet 
the deeper, more palpable blue of the sea, floated as a 
parting signal the dark mezzotinted pennon of the 
Naples bound steamer. But the rich and varied 
color-effects with which the landscape was touched 
transfigured and glorified all, for us who delight in 
brilliant results, however incurious we may be as to 
reasons and processes. There were exquisite greens 
bright with thoughts of Spring, and flashes of darker 
emerald tones emerging from masses of cast-off or re- 
vivified browns; soft-hued azures losing themselves in 



PALERMO CHURCHES AND CATHEDRAL OF MONREALE. 151 

deep, delicious purples, or suddenly arrested in their 
mysterious reaches and intricate blendings by the 
sharp-cut shadow of a mountain; and cool willow 
grays and pale olives caught and held in the radiant 
warmth of the golden sun, which gave its glow and 
mellowing harmony-tints to the entire scene. There 
is a peculiar shadow-tone in all the local color of the 
valley plain of Palermo, owing to the fact that its wall 
of mountains is so precipitous, and that its one open- 
ing is on the north side. This effect is most striking 
in the tints of the smaller bay, on which the sun sel- 
dom shines, or at most only for a little while at a time. 
We turned our eyes longingly toward the loftier 
heights, where amid silence and solitude, we knew 
we might find the famous Convent of San Martino, 
in the library of which originated the curious literary 
imposture of Abbate Vella, the pretended recovery 
of the lost books of Livy. It was an ill wind for the 
Abbate, but a lucky one for others, that brought to 
the Convent the long-headed Oriental scholar who 
detected and proved the imposture. However, giv- 
ing up San Martino was not so grievous after seeing 
some of the brotherhood from thence who stated that 
ladies could not be admitted even to the Library. 
We fancied they had a solemn, haunted look, as if 
they had come from the kingdom of ghostly memories 
and defenders. 



152 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

In the Olivuzza suburb are seen some of the 
finest villas of the Sicilian nobility, also the Sara- 
cenic ruin of La Zisa. The walls of this structure 
are plain, being relieved only by pointed panels, and 
an inscription in Arabic around the summit. One of 
the halls — an open one — is said to be of the same 
architecture as the Alhambra, to have the same grace 
and beauty in its ornamentation, and to suggest in 
its appointments the same splendors and refinements ; 
certain it is, its beauty is to-day as desolate, its gar- 
dens are destroyed, and its fountains play no more ! 

Prof. S , who is very proud of Spanish Saracenic 

mixtures in Sicily, says, if one includes in the view of 
La Zisa the near olive groves, the myrtle and aloes, 
and the not far distant palm-trees, and fancies them 
filled with the plaintive cadence of Moorish melan- 
choly, he will have a good bit of southern Spain in 
La Zisa and its surroundings. 



XIY. 

MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 

The pleasantest happenings to a tourist are the 
occasional surprises — the unexpected randoms which 
he encounters, whether in people or in things. Next 
in delectableness are the exceptional findings of both, 
that prove to be better than fancy had pictured 
them, and in which, because they are so rare, the 
memory has as permanent delight as in actual dis- 
coveries. These reflections are pertinent in calling 
to mind an excursion made to Monte Pellegrino 
a few days since. We knew in general that the 
vast mass rising so precipitously from the sea, with 
its deep purple hollows and gray rugged battlements 
resembling the crumbling towers of some feudal cas- 
tle wherein wild sea birds make their homes, had 
been likened to the Eock of Gibraltar, that as the 
Ereta of the ancients it afforded an almost impreg- 
nable stronghold to the Carthagenians and that, 
in every view of the city and plain, whether by 
sea or land, flanked by seemingly inaccessible 



154 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

precipices, its feet set in jewelled foam, its sum- 
mit draped with an iridescent radiance, it Was the 
majesty dominating all else — the one. crowning 
glory ! But we were far from suspecting the in- 
finite wonders, the impressive incidents and match- 
less effects that would be revealed to us when we 
should ascend to the topmost pinnacle. 

The ascent is rendered easy by a road which rests 
on arches and columns, and makes its upward prog- 
ress by a series 'of zigzags between the cliffs. Under 
an overhanging rock, near the summit of the moun- 
tain, is the cavern in which was discovered the body 
of Sta. Rosalia. The cavern has been converted into 
a chapel without changing its natural form; in the 
recesses of the rock are the altars and the shrine 
of the saint, before which lamps are always burn- 
ing. We were struck with the singular beauty 
and suitableness of the chapel as a place of wor- 
ship; its solemn isolation seemed to wall out all 
worldliness, and to give unconditioned assurances 
of the presence of the Infinitely Holy. The pecu- 
liar richness and depth of tones lent a charming 
accord to the light and coloring of the irregularly 
distributed spaces; the dark green of the tubes 
used to collect and carry off the constantly drop- 
ping water, had the appearance of thin traceries of 
moss, or overlacing weedy arabesques, and bright- 



MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 155 

ened the sombre gray of the rock, while plastic art 
tendered its aid in the beautiful statue of the saint, 
by Gregorio Tedeschi, a Florentine. She is repre- 
sented in an ecstatic state, the eyes half closed, the 
hands clasped, and is clad in a robe imitating the 
texture of wrought gold; near by stands an angel 
waving a branch of lilies. The stillness, which 
had added to itself a deeper hush and more sol- 
emn sentiment of solitude, was suddenly broken 
by the sound of priestly voices chanting a low, 
sweet vesper hymn before the high altar. The 
measure kept time to the rhythmical accompani- 
ment of water trickling slowly from the rocky 
sides of the chapel, as if the spirit of the place 
had taken on a tender, sympathetic mood, being 
touched by the sight of its own softly falling 
tears. This cavern chapel is as simple and sub- 
lime in thought, as rebuking to all human self- 
assertion and rebelliousness, as awe-inspiring and 
filled with praise of Him who hath made it as 
when freshly torn from the silence of the moun- 
tain and cast thus high into the air. 

A small temple commands the finest sea-view, 
and occupies the site on which once stood a col- 
ossal statue of Sta. Eosalia, The pious mariner 
"going down to the sea in ships," fixed his part- 
ing gaze upon it, and crossing himself, invoked 



156 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the protection of the saint, Returning from voy 
aging into strange lands, it was the first object 
sought by his longing eyes, and as soon as he 
descried the familiar figure keeping its accus- 
tomed watch on the rocky heights, he pledged a 
goodly thank-offering to Sta. Rosalia's shrine. From 
the brink of the precipice one casts his eye over the 
broad, ravishingly lovely lapis lazuli of the Medi- 
terranean, following the graceful curve of the shore 
toward the east, now bright with the bloom of early 
spring, till it is lost in the bold advance of Monte 
Catalfano; he listens to the perpetual anthem sound- 
ing on the rocks hundreds of feet below, and to 
the undisturbed chorus of birds in their lofty eyries 
above; he w r atches the clouds sailing down like 
white- winged angels from the heavenly battlements; 
he sees the atmosphere's sudden, mysterious ex- 
change of tints, soft gray azures giving way to 
bright rosy hues; he beholds the mountain tops 
serenely stately above their girdle of waving palms 
and solemn cypresses, putting on glittering golden 
aureoles, obedient to the sun's royal behest; and 
lo! the whole earth becomes to him a vast cathe- 
dral — the full heart finds expression only in the 
cry, u Who hath built thee up so mighty, world, 
sea, valleys wide, hills and mountains?" 
"Surely our God is a great God." 



MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 157 

The climate of Sicily is unlike that of Italy proper; 
the sun is more brilliant, and almost African in heat; 
the vegetation is more luxuriant, as if poured out 
of- a fuller, more open-handed plenteousness ; while 
the flora is far more gorgeous, the stately agave and 
flaming oleander being its brave standard-bearers. 
Whether as things of beauty for the eye, or as de- 
lectable things for the palate, the olives, citrons, and 
Indian figs of the island far surpass those of the 
mainland; and the golden wines, compounded of 
volcanic and summer heats, inspire songs more care- 
free and joyous. Even the formation of the island's 
sea-girt coast is quite unlike that of the peninsula, 
which slopes gently to the white margin of the 
Mediterranean; it is rugged and bristling, advances 
defiantly, and falls precipitously into dark, seemingly 
fathomless depths. Rising threateningly out of the 
waves, the eastern "rock-bound shore," the granite- 
battlemented guardian of "fair Trinacria," looks black 
and frowningly upon its vis-a-vis across the strait. 
Thus did the Sicilian once look upon the Italian 
of the continent, fraternizing with him neither in 
thought, language, nor manners. The natives of 
Sicily were a people as peculiar unto themselves in 
character as were the beauty and historic grandeur 
of their island when the Romans came to admire, 
covet, and conquer. Keen as was the Roman blade, 



158 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

its edge was turned by the Sicilian ploughshare; 
hence the servile wars that so long devastated the* 
land. It is not easy to account for the Sicilian's 
once deep-seated aversion to being called an Italian; 
whether it was simply the remaining heritage of a 
Saracenic ancestry (certainly it was stronger in the 
southern part of the island, w r here there was, and 
still is, a greater preponderance of the Oriental ele- 
ment), or whether we must go further back to seek 
its cause, we are unable to say. It is set down in 
legendary records, that in the days called pre-his- 
toric, the giant forces of the earth, sentient and 
prophetic as to the nations that were to spring up 
and occupy the four quarters of the globe, and for 
whom they wished to open a passage from the 
western sea into the eastern, tore off this triangu- 
lar mass from the mainland, and hurled it, writhing 
with agony, into the depths of the sea. It w r as not 
long, however, before it reappeared: remembering 
the pains of the forced separation, did it pledge 
itself, with all its sunny, blooming beauty and the 
people that should inhabit it, to an isolated exist- 
ence? Or, when the earth was heaved up, the val- 
leys scooped out, and the mountains piled one upon 
another by the power of fire, did the violence of 
volcanic heat engender hatred toward the mother- 
land, and leave it as a heritage to the dwellers in 



MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 159 

the island? Are the fiercer passions — jealousy, ha- 
tred, and mockery — as native to volcanic soil as 
poetry, love, and patriotism ? 

It was the fate of Sicily, consequently that of its 
capital city, to be for centuries the scene of succes- 
sive foreign incursions, to be tossed wildly and swiftly 
from one victor's oppressive hand to another, until 
the desire as well as the power of independent self- 
assertion became apparently but a memory in the 
land. It was not till the foot of the Bourbon was 
set upon their necks that the paralyzed spirit of the 
people awoke. Eepressed longings — even the hope 
for ultimate freedom — stirred within them, vitaliz- 
ing their energies, and kindling an enthusiasm en- 
nobled by the worthy demand for an united Italy. 
Their long-stifled hatred of tyranny broke out like 
a devouring flame, which not all their blood, nor 
the blood of their sons, could quench. In 1860, his- 
tory began for them a new cycle, scattering the 
seeds of promise throughout the island. The sol- 
dier of freedom, the man of Caprera, sent his bugle 
notes over the blue sea. The people of Sicily heard, 
and made such answer that under his leadership on 
Sicilian soil was struck the first, effective blow for 
Italian unity. Glowing with the transports of vic- 
tory, the islanders bore the standard of liberty across 
the straits, and planted it on the mainland. If the 



160 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

intended stride toward freedom has proved only a 
step in the march, the more intelligent accept that 
with gratitude, content to watch and wait. They 
still trustingly believe in a future unfolding, in 
which Italy ransomed shall attain complete fulness 
and glory.' 

Palermo seems to have well comprehended the po- 
sition pf Sicily in the United Kingdom, as is evident 
by the ready aid she has rendered it in men and 
means. She was one of the first cities to put off 
the holiday garb and habits of the dolce far niente 
of the south, and put her hand to earnest, active 
labor. By developing and utilizing the varied re- 
sources of the island, and by gradually effecting 
practical reforms, she thinks to work out its politi- 
cal and social regeneration. Her University is one 
of which any city might be proud, and she has had 
the wisdom to allow the middle and lower classes 
opportunities for more extended information than 
they have hitherto enjoyed. If her schools have 
been less successful than those of Naples, still great 
progress has been made. Though the scribe with 
spectacles and ready inkhorn, sitting in the Quat- 
tro Cantoni, writing at the dictation of some hand- 
some youth or bright-eyed maiden, is yet one of the 
picturesque details of her streets, the sight is not so 
usual as in former days. While the observant trav- 



MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 161 

eller rejoices at the inference, viz. : that the de- 
mand for the scribe's services has visibly lessened 
among those who are to be the future guardians of 
the State, he cannot but miss the great variety of 
color, composition, and action once so striking in 
these wayside pictures. He sees, however, other 
bright local pictures — other splendid life-groups; for 
on every hand are those which are the outcome of 
an exchange of the old leisure and idleness for na- 
tionally healthful occupations — new industries and 
political activities. In the matter of public and pri- 
vate charities, Palermo is, as indeed she has always 
been, preeminently distinguished. If her brilliant 
sun and the seething heat of Etna's fires do breed 
a fiery passionateness in the native character, there 
are also born of them great loves. Compassionate- 
ness and a large-hearted liberality are among the 
striking characteristics of the Palermitan nobleman. 
Our last excursion outside the city was to Monte 
Grifone, the favorite resort of painter and poet; 
neither ever tires of the marvellous picture seen from 
its summit. Monte Pellegrino forms the main fea- 
ture of the background, with the bloom of a long 
purple distance opening between it and the moun- 
tains to the southward. In the foreground is the 
city, with its churches, palaces, and ramparts, the 
rhythmic movement of its gay, cheerful life, and 



162 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the ruined walls of Castellamare, swimming dreamily 
in a thousand changing lights and shadows. Spring, 
persuasively quickened of the heavens, had made no- 
ticeable advances within a few days; the intense 
blues and purples of the waysides were streaked with 
greens, azures, and violets; there were white nar- 
cissus, pale-tinted cyclamen, and in shady places 
great beds of forget-me-nots. The light breeze stray- 
ing from the valley had taken its quota of odor as 
it brushed past hawthorn hedges and rose-scented 
gardens, while the whole air was vocal with the 
singing of birds, newly inspired and full-voiced for 
their spring-time symphony or jubilate chorus. On 
the lower slope of Monte Grifone is the Capuchin 
monastery of II Gesu; behind it a path climbs the 
steep side of the mountain, through a tangle of trees 
and shrubs and clinging vines, to "The Crosses," 
overhung with ivy-covered rocks, and their bases 
muffled with flowers. The quaint-featured monas- 
tery, with a superannuated expression — a vague mem- 
ory, as it were, of its early Norman origin — is half 
buried in a luxuriant growth of orange and yew 
trees. In the yard, apart, stands a beautiful star- 
shaped palm, its long tapering leaves tremulous in 
the still air. It is a wonderful revelation of infinite 
grace and loveliness, uniting one's early dreams of 
the Orient with a present poetic reality: one lingers 



MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 163 

near it, trying to grasp and make fast the link 
that binds it to the memory of Christ's entry into 
Jerusalem. 

We encountered at the point of egress into the 
highway three or four gentlemen, whom we at once 
set down as Englishmen, for each one carried a Mur- 
ray, and had an opera-glass slung across his shoulder. 
Our suspicion was confirmed when a little doubt as 
to the right of way gave us an opportunity to note 
the striking superiority in which the travelling Eng- 
lishman envelops himself, and which makes him such 
a favorite, particularly with his English-speaking 
cousins. Further down the mountain we overtook 
peasants jogging cityward, their donkeys seemingly 
lost beneath immense loads of purple-headed broc- 
coli ; — the poor overladen and overbeaten donkey ! 
is there anything in its way more pathetic than his 
resignation — when he is resigned ? 

Midway between the base of Monte Grifone and the 
city, surrounded by melancholy cypresses, and some- 
what removed from the bright line of the highway, 
we found the church of Santo Spirito, the scene of 
the tragic events known as the " Sicilian Vespers." 
On that Easter Monday, a. d. 1282, the church 
stood in the midst of a flower-strewn plain ; the air 
trembled with throbbings of universal joy as the fes- 
tive vesper-throng moved on its way toward Mon- 



164 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

reale. A Frenchman's insolence to a maiden changed 
the smiling, flowery mead into a field of blood. In 
the fearful carnage that ensued, not only was the 
maiden avenged, but Conradin, the youthful Hohen- 
staufen, whose cruel murder gave to Frenchmen the 
possession of the island. The influence of the rev- 
olution that followed was not confined to the island; 
it was felt throughout all Europe, and gave a strong 
impetus to the cause of freedom. 

To the church of Santo Spirito (one of the oldest 
Christian edifices in Palermo, having been built more 
than a century prior to the Sicilian Vespers massa- 
cre) is attached the old Campo Santo. The approach 
to it is fitly most gloomy and ghostly; the paths 
are bordered with stiff, sombre-hued box, in which 
are laid grinning skulls, and the air seems freighted 
with a leaden stillness, in which are thoughts of 
death that go no further than mere dissolution. 
In the underground galleries of the Campo one 
may see the skeletons of defunct Palermitans, ar- 
rayed in garments, facsimiles of those worn when 
living, said garments being renewed by surviving 
relatives as often as deemed necessary. The cus- 
tom of keeping the dead thus unburied, and of re- 
storing to shrivelled brows fair tresses, to the nerve- 
less grasp the jewel-hilted sword, and to shrunken 
forms the soft fallings of costly lace, or shimmer of 



MONTE PELLEGRINO AND GRIFONE. 165 

glace and brocaded webs, is fast becoming a thing 
of the past. The funeral processions, in which the 
body of the deceased was borne, either in a chair or 
exposed on an open bier, ar^ no longer permitted. 
Latterly the dead are coffined, and in a hearse are 
carried to the place of burial. The new Campo 
Santo is on the north side of Monte Pellegrino. 
Peacefully should all rest under the shadow of the 
great mountain! 



XV. 

THE MARINA. — GARIBALDI'S OCCUPATION OF 
THE CITY. 

One of the disagreeable fatalities attending travel, 
is that just as one gets settled, and begins to take a 
sort of home-feeling delight in his surroundings, the 
necessity to be moving on stares him in the face, and 
will take no appeal from the peremptory order to 
"pack up." It became evident, at last, even to our 
bewitched perceptions, that we must leave Palermo 
— tear ourselves away from our charming Olivuzza, 
where from the stone balconies or terraced roof we 
had watched so many purple twilights deepen into 
darkness, and felt the stillness fall around us like 
the soft folds of a flexile garment. 

We spent our last evening in Palermo on the 
Marina. We had walked there often in the full 
light of pleasant afternoons, when it was thronged 
with carriages offering a combination of coroneted 
panels and beautiful faces; while under the shade 



THE MARINA. 167 

of its magnificent trees or beside its flower-bordered 
pathways sat picturesque groups enjoying themselves 
in the happy Sicilian fashion — a fashion ecstatic with 
a sort of precelestial rapture — and demanding if the 
Marina was not a bit of paradise. Seated on the 
parapet overlooking the sea, and gazing beyond its 
heaving bosom into the far-away, Ave had watched 
the fantastic confusions of waves and clouds, the 
strangely glittering compounds of shimmer and shad- 
ow, and pondered on the mighty mystery of the 
sea's solemn and awful isolation. We had strolled 
through the Marina's foot promenade, adorned with 
statues, flower-filled vases, and fountains; and, lis- 
tening to the suggestive, cooing bird-music of the 
thickets, woven a bright-webbed romance. A young 
maiden of our party was as lovely to look upon as 
the roses she had gathered, her movements lingering 
in one's thoughts like the fragment of a song; and 
within easy speaking distance walked our friend, 
the handsome Professor, with the stamp of great 
intellectual gifts on his lofty brow, and frankly ad- 
mitting that he admired American girls more than 
all others. 

Apropos of lovers and the Marina, the latter might 
well be called the Lover's Walk. When a young 
man of the city thinks he has fallen in love and 
desires to marry, he signifies his intentions by asking 



168 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the wished-for maiden's father if he may join the 
family group on the Marina. Having done this once 
or twice in the face of the Marina world, the young 
man is in honor bound, and must the maiden wed; 
but discoursing of lovers, we have wandered from our 
moonlight evening beside the multitudinous waters. 

However beautiful Palermo's sea-side promenade 
may be, — and it is called by tourists the loveliest 
in the world, — one cannot know all its possibilities 
till he has seen it as transfigured by the splendors 
of a royal night — a Queen Luna's night. In the 
piazza through which we passed on our way thither, 
a fountain threw tall, sparkling jets up into the 
white gleaming; which, falling back into the great 
stone basin, filled it with twisted, bead} 7 masses, like 
piled up links of Roman pearls; while the Porta 
Felice — open at the top that the car of St. Rosalia 
may pass through on the occasion of her festivals — 
was outlined against a background of sky and sea 
darkness, with its square, tower-like pinnacles play- 
ing hide-and-seek at the will of the moonbeams, and 
the daylight grey of its limestone whitened into irre- 
proachable marble. 

On the Marina the band was discoursing sweet 
music, — airs from Sonnambula, in which Sicilians es- 
pecially delight, not only for the reason that its sym- 
pathetic movements and fresh melodic qualities are 



THE MAMMA. 



169 



so easily seized and comprehended by them, but be- 
cause Bellini was a native of their island — the only 
composer of note whom they may claim. As we 
strolled on under long tapering-fingered palms, the 
breeze in soft, spirit-like tones responded to their 
gentle touch; and beneath the drooping, censer- 
swinging arms of gigantic willows, dimly outlined 
vistas opened and wandered off, to be lost in uncer- 
tain shadows. On every hand flowery arabesques 
(curiously shaped flower beds), touched by the ma- 
gician's wand, made charming revelations. Their 
exquisite grace and beauty, all a-tremble in a silver 
gleam of delight, seemed like rarest, sweetest phan- 
toms; the whole night air was filled with their 
grateful fragrance — earth's joy-laden incense floating 
heavenward. The white line of the sea-wall bal- 
ustrade, the silent marble or granite sentinels on 
guard in the open spaces, and the quiet groups 
strolling hither and thither, now in a soft enfolding 
half-shadow, now struck by a broad beam of moon- 
light, were easily adapted to the filling out and col- 
oring of the pleasant fancies of the moment. Far 
out in unbounded space the sea seemed to mass its 
mysteries; one listened for the thunder-conches of 
Tritons, and thought of Nereids with dishevelled 
tresses and garments " dripping with foam," or heard 
in imagination the bodeful roar of tempest-chased 



1.70 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

waters, and remembered there were those who sailed 
and were never heard of more. A cool breeze laid 
its touch caressingly upon uncovered brows, lifting 
straying locks as lightly as might the gentlest spirit 
of the moonbeams; it offered an exhaustless draught 
of sweetness and refreshment ; we, drinking thereof, 
were grateful, and wondered not that the Palermi- 
tans are so fond of their promenade by the softly 
sounding sea. To our senses, sea and sky, moonlight 
and music, things movable and immovable, all that 
was given us for the place and the hour, was steeped 
in ineffable beauty, and set to poetic movements. 

The soberer details of the Marina are that it is 
divided into two portions, or grades, called the 
upper and lower — the latter running along the sea- 
shore, with a paved footway between it and the 
water margin, and the former being a parallel ter- 
race, backgrounded by a stately line of magnificent 
palaces; and that the part occupied by the road- 
ways is eighty feet broad, and extends from the 
Porta Felice, the terminus of the corso Vittorio 
Emanuele, to the Botanical Gardens — a distance of 
little more than a mile. The w^ater for the foun- 
tains is supplied by the city reservoirs, which are 
numerous, found generally at the corners of the 
streets, and are a blessing for which the city is in- 
debted to the Saracens. 



THE MARINA. 171 

From the Marina we wandered into the Villa 
Giulia, and sat awhile beneath its famous flowering 
trees; afterward we strolled through the avenues 
bordered by palmettos and cypresses, oranges, and 
citrons of the Botanical Gardens, and thence, fol- 
lowing the line of the ancient wall, reached the 
Porta through which Garibaldi entered the city in 
1860, and which since that time has been called by 
his name. It was a glorious day for Sicily when the 
expectant cry " Garibaldi is coming," was changed 
into the enthusiastic shout " Garibaldi is come." He 
landed at Marsala with his band of volunteers (it 
could scarcely be called an army, numbering in all 
less than two thousand), and, having vanquished 
the Neapolitan troops which had advanced to Cala- 
tafimi to meet him, marched upon Palermo, where 
was quartered the main body of the royal forces. 
To their astonished and reluctant gaze, suddenly 
on the heights encircling the city appeared a long- 
line of Garibaldian outposts; in fact the handful 
of men was all converted into outposts, thus produc- 
ing the impression of a large army. The royalists, 
not daring to risk an encounter on the heights where 
the invaders had apparently entrenched themselves, 
made a stand at Ponte dell'Ammiraglio, and, strongly 
fortifying it, there awaited an attack from the then 
so-called guerrilla chief. On the 27th of May, thirty 



172 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of his famous "one thousand," aided by Turr and 
Bixio's bands, stormed and took the bridge, the 
key of the royalist's position, thereby opening the 
road to Palermo. Forcing their way at once into 
the city, under the fire of several batteries and 
while the fleet in the harbor kept up a continual 
bombardment, they were received with the wildest 
demonstrations of gratitude by the citizens, who in 
their desire to aid in the work of driving Bourbon 
minions from the streets, brought their household 
goods, mattresses and the like, to help in the con- 
struction of barricades. " For three days," continued 

Prof. S , as we turned into the Corso Garibaldi, 

"the contest raged, then the gallant deliverer and 
his little band called their victory complete ; and the 
world looked upon twenty thousand well-provided, 
well-disciplined Neapolitan regulars confined in the 
city fortresses and barracks, they and the ships of 
their fleet guarded by eight hundred men — mostly 
youths inexperienced in the arts of war, and peasants 
who had joined the small force on its march from 
Marsala. Undoubtedly the enthusiasm of the peas- 
antry was kindled and kept alive by that of a young 
monk, known as Brother John, who, bearing aloft a 
crucifix, had led the Garibaklian advance." 

"\Yhere were you all this time?" inquired Bella. 

" Oh, somewhere in the melee, as ragged, excited 



THE MARINA. 173 

and nearly famished as any. It was not till the 
evening of the fourth day that I obtained a tempo- 
rary leave of absence; when hurrying to the Palazzo 

A » which is, as you know, just inside the Porta 

Maequeda, I presented myself, unshod, unshorn, and 
in my tattered red Garibaldian shirt, before my half 
distracted mother. She was ready to give me her 
blessing then, a boon I had at first craved, but went 
away without, she not being able to see of what 
service a youth of seventeen could be to his country 
in the ranks of Garibaldi." 

Sicily— mountain shored, teased with the fever of 
Etna's fires, of a beauty that attracted the nations 
from the North and the South, the East and the West 
— is the heroine of a sad and ever-changing story. 
From the time of its accredited settlement by the 
Phoenicians until the present, the desire for inde- 
pendence has kept it restless. Conquered, but with 
spirit unsubdued, it was always in a heat; ready to 
break out in insurrections against any form of tyr- 
anny. Now that it forms part of a so-called con- 
stitutional Government, many incongruous elements 
are being eliminated; while its temper, it is to be 
hoped, will lose some of its fire. A new life seems 
to flow in its veins and feed its ambition, and its 
graces are maturing with the developing of its mani- 
fold resources; an increasing Jove of order, the spirit 



174 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

of a more generous social and religious toleration, 
and an ardent, patriotic enthusiasm for United Italy, 
being prominent. May its present promises, at no dis- 
tant day, prove golden fruitions, which shall be more 
brilliant and enduring than all its ancient glories ! 
Whoever visits Southern Italy should not fail to con- 
tinue his journeyings to the island. Its natural beau- 
ties are wholly peculiar to itself; its styles of ancient 
architecture — the Norman and Byzantine Saracenic — 
are nowhere else to be seen in such entireness; and 
certainly its political condition should have more than 
ordinary interest for us, with whom it has largely 
increasing commercial relations. Italy, without Si- 
cily, is far from complete — it is like a magnificent 
crown lacking a rare and costly jewel. 

On the 24th inst., we retraced our steps, trusting 
ourselves once more to the fickle, and sometimes 
false, Mediterranean. The beauty of the long drive 
from the Piazza Olivuzza to the wharf of the Nea- 
politan steamer at the westernmost point of the har- 
bor, under the shadows of Monte Pellegrino, was 
not needed to emphasize to us the charms of this 
fairest of Italian cities, nor the renewed kindness of 
friends to add to the pains of leave-taking. From 
the deck of the steamer we watched the gradual 
distancing of the city's splendid palaces, mosque-like 
churches, and eloquent ruin, Fort Castellamare. We 



THE MARINA. 175 

saw the grand purple mountains which, with their 
villas and monasteries, form its background, the smil- 
ing vine and orangerie covered slopes swaying to and 
fro, as if intoxicated with their own luxurious beauty, 
and finally the bold, sphynx-like rocks, with defiant 
strength set as guardians of the harbor, all disappear 
— vanish like a gorgeous dream ! In memory they 
linger as the marginal illuminations of a sonorous 
lyric. 

Before nightfall we had sighted the volcanic Mo 
lian islands, legendarily the realm of storms, the 
kingdom of JEolus and home of Vulcan. A heavy 
cloud which we thought might be smoke, recalled 
the strange phenomenon sometimes witnessed in that 
region, of subterranean fires seemingly seething and 
glowing in the midst of water. The sea proved more 
friendly than on our voyage southward. At daybreak 
we came in sight of " calm-waiting Capri," and soon 
after were running into the bay of Naples. Of the 
picture upon which we looked as we entered the bay, 
no pen can make an adequate memorandum ; indeed 
I doubt if its subtilties would yield themselves even 
to the more cunning hand of Art. In our wake, 
darkness struggled with the encroaching light ; sud 
denly the stars disappeared from the sky, and there 
was a faint reddening in the east, which soon be- 
came brilliant enough to reveal the sombre, heavy 



176 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

outlines of Vesuvius. From the volcano's summit 
an immense cloud of smoke rose darkly, sending 
out a long frowning streak of blackness southward. 
When the sun rose, a gigantic purple shadow, pro- 
jected by. the mountain, strode across the plain and 
dipped its head in the sea; a moment after, the 
long mourning pennon, now stretching from Torre 
Annunziata to Sorrento, began to brighten, the illu- 
mination continuing and spreading, till not only it, 
but the whole smoke-wreathed crest, was changed 
into flame, and one saw that the seemingly striped 
ribbons thrown from the summit adown the moun- 
tain's sides, were streams of lava, streaked here and 
there with nature's healing touches. It was one of 
the few scenes, the strangeness and beauty of which 
will keep themselves intact amid thousands of tour- 
ists' remembrances. 



XVI. 

POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 

On the morning of the second day after our arrival 
in Naples, we took the early train to Pompeii — 
for every traveller feels that he must see the city 
whose "night of terror" has held captive the 
imagination of centuries. After leaving the crowd- 
ed suburbs, we ran along a coast as beautiful as 
if adorned for a festival of "rare delights," crossed 
the huge lava-stream of 1794, which is forty feet thick 
and two thousand feet broad, and made a halt at 
Torre del Greco, a town built on a lava-stream of 
1631. It has been so many times destroyed and 
rebuilt, that there is a Neapolitan saying, " JSTapoU 
fa i peccati e la Torre li paga." After Torre del 
Greco, there were several small villages from which 
we saw fishing-boats going out, and the foaming 
waves, dipping their beaded crests to the toilers of 
the sea, coming in. And we discovered that Vesu- 
vius, not yet cured of her fiery headache, had swathed 



178 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

her huge temples with massed folds of white cloud- 
drapery. Dismounting at the Pompeii station, we 
encountered certain embassaic innocents, ready to 
escort us across the fields to the Hotel Diomed, but 
of whose services we had no need, for it was plainly 
to be seen on the hillside not a hundred yards off. 
There we procured tickets and a guide. 

It seemed fitting that we should enter the dead 
city by a street of tombs. We sat down beside that 
of the priestess Mamia, feeling how strange was the 
dreary stillness, the lifeless melancholy that pervaded 
all. The impression was the more penetrating and 
eloquent, because of the fresh roses clustered about 
urns, the ineffable brightness of sun and sky, and 
the glorious sea and mountain perspective. The un- 
roofed buildings, the broken doorways and arches, 
the crumbling walls, the many prostrate and frag- 
mentary columns, were what we expected; but how 
narrow were the streets, how small the squares, how 
meagre the spaces allotted to the dwellings! The 
traveller who has built his Pompeii after the model 
of novelists and other writers, has a disappointment 
in regard to its size to overcome before he can yield 
himself to a contemplation of its actual wonders. 
But this done, he wanders up and down its public 
ways finding endless material for thought— 7 data from 
which to reconstruct its life, and revelations which 



POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 179 

perchance make known to him some of the secrets 
of its tragic fate. 

Life, although far from Homeric, was evidently 
simple; great traffic there could not have been, de- 
spite the deep furrows worn by cart-wheels; and few 
were the industrial or mechanical pursuits, judging 
from utensils, fabrics, and furnishings. The nine- 
teenth century raves over Pompeian lamps and gob- 
lets, but not because they are of elaborate work- 
manship. The foot-pavements are raised, and at the 
crossings are large stepping-stones to insure dry-shod 
passing in rainy weather. Private life was measur- 
ably merged in public, or at least was unimportant ; 
else why such small habitations ! — even that of the 
great Sallust is on a very limited scale. But small 
as they are, their clisposings are elegant. In the 
centre is a garden-like court with a fountain enclosed 
by a columned portico; on either side of the court 
are inner chambers, saloon, dining-room, and bed- 
rooms (in these last, it puzzles one to see how the 
occupants could have disposed themselves); and in 
front is the entrance room or shop, perhaps, for the 
sale of grain, oil and wine. In the more pretentious 
houses even, there is no rearing of story above story, 
but the different floors, if they may be so called, are 
spread on the ground, and usually rearward from 
the street. This arrangement, while it probably or- 



180 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

iginated in the known instability of the soil, allowed 
great freedom in the distribution of columns and 
porticos, and in the number of fountains, both for 
use and ornament. The floors are inlaid with mo- 
saics, which in many cases are uninjured; those of 
fanciful designs we thought less delicate and beau- 
tiful than those of white marble grounds dotted reg- 
ularly with black. 

Much has been written of the frescoes, of their 
ingenuous grace and ideal beauty; they have been 
called the " glorifying splendors of the citizens' 
heaped up riches." While they retain a wonderful 
vividness of hue, a certain charming airiness, and 
often great vigor of action, their principal interest 
for us lay in what they revealed of the private life 
of antiquity. To our modern eyes they display greater 
corruption in morals than skill in art* It is true that 
mural painting was done as often by artisans as 
artists. The subjects are taken from the common 
avocations of life, representing ordinary attitudes, 
or else from the fables of the gods, such as were 
best suited to the soft, sensuous life of Pompeii — 
Venus and Adonis, Ariadne discovered by Bacchus, 
and those frequent bathers, Diana and her Nymphs. 
The last do not confine themselves to the Thermas 
by any means, but in any chance place, advertise the 
bathing propensities of the Pompeians. The bath- 



POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 181 

houses were also gymnastic institutions, their cupid- 
covered cornices and richly medallioned vaults not 
only indicate the desire that they should be pleasant 
places of resort, but also a voluptuous sentimental- 
ism that delighted in supple muscles and polished 
cuticles. 

The forum, a large open space, is paved with im- 
mense blocks of travertine, and surrounded by deep, 
shady arcades. On the south side are traces of a 
double row of Ionic columns; and in various places 
are remains of pedestals (numbering some twenty- 
five) which probably supported colossal statues. Into 
the forum converged six of the principal streets; on 
it opened the halls of justice, the temples, and the 
house of Eumachia. Being the place of council, here 
congregated priests and senators, patricians and ple- 
beians. Overlooking it were the divinities who, in 
the primitive ideas of the people, ruled their destiny ; 
thus it was the centre of faith, and sacred in the 
eyes of the citizen. To him, it was the heart of 
the city, the place where he felt the throbbing pulse 
of what he called Ms country — that silent, nameless 
something of himself rooted into the soil, over which 
he watched, and which he felt watched and pro- 
tected him. 

At the summit of the hill was the theatre; the 
seats may have been of Parian marble, as stated 



182 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

by the guide; we could see for ourselves that the 
view was glorious — Vesuvius and the sea were in 
front, and through the roof-opening the radiant blue 
heavens were visible. In the structures of Pompeii 
there is a notable absence of marble, the columns 
being usually of tufa rock or some composition cov- 
ered with stucco. The few marble remains proba- 
bly belong to a Pompeii more ancient even than 
that destroyed by the fury of the mountain in 97 a. d. 
The amphitheatre, where it is supposed the peo- 
ple were gathered and received the first warning 
of the impending catastrophe, has little stately mag- 
nificence or ruin-left grandeur, when compared with 
the Coliseum at Ptome or the Arena at Verona. Bul- 
wer must have dreamed out his Pompeian Amphi- 
theatre to suit his convenience; he never saw it 
on the slope at the foot of Vesuvius. In com- 
mon with all arenas, it has the indelible impress of 
competitions in brute force — the purplish red stain, 
or seal of antiquity ! Having the sea in front and 
the mountain in the background, it is the spot where, 
perhaps more vividly than elsewhere, the imagina- 
tion conjures up the scenes of the most fearful of 
tragedies — the advancing torrent of fire; the black, 
ashy, suffocating air; the terror of the people hur- 
rying to the shore; and Pliny, that he may witness 
the wonderful phenomenon, coming over from Baias. 



POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 183 

In the dark "underground vaults of the Villa of 
Diomed, one sees on the ash-baked walls the imprints 
of the bodies of those who, seeking shelter there, 
were surrounded and suffocated by the floods of 
inpouring lava. To-day Diomed's gardens are as 
full of bloom, and ivies climb as freely over walls, 
as when a generation — for centuries forgotten — en- 
joyed their beauty and inhaled their sweetness. The 
guide insisted on showing us the casts taken from 
moulds formed in the hardened lava by the bodies 
of other victims of the wrathful storm of fire. At 
the time they were discovered, the flesh had wasted 
away, leaving only bones in the hollows. These 
figures reveal how hard it was for some to die, 
how they writhed and wildly threw their arms 
about, and how others stoically yielded to their 
fate, and left a stern rigid resignation imprinted 
upon the features. We looked, but turned quickly 
away; sweeter than the struggle of life and death 
were the fields and the perfume of flowers ! 

Once more on our way, we could hardly rid our 
selves of the thought that the region was still shaky, 
and that uncomfortable fires might break out in un 
expected places. An Englishman in our carriage 
seemed to be almost "undone" on the subject of 
volcanoes; he had ascended Vesuvius, Etna, and 
Stromboli, not to mention a half dozen more in 



184 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

India, and other parts of Asia. His only regret 
in life was that he could not have witnessed the 
wonderful eruption of Mauna Loa, in the Hawaiian 
Islands in 1859, when the lava stream ran fifty 
miles in eight days. 

The warm, sheltered plain toward Castellamare was 
full of promise for the laborers, and there were many. 
Occasionally we saw a cart-full — which means as 
many as can hang on, ten or fifteen — going to, or 
returning from the fields ; and if it was not a fancy 
of ours, the type of faces had changed since leaving 
Naples, — the features were longer, more purely Gre- 
cian. Castellamare occupies the site of ancient Stra- 
bia; it was here that Pliny perished when Strabia 
and Pompeii were both destroyed. From Castella- 
mare we proceeded by carriage, keeping close to 
the shore, the road cut into the rocks forming a 
cornice-like way. On one side huge masses, fallen 
from the overhanging cliffs into the sea, made an 
irregular fret-wall for the besieging waters, which 
changed their hues according to the shifting influ- 
ences of light and depth, — being one moment of 
a transparent emerald, the next flashing with a 
white diamond brilliancy; noAV reflecting amethys- 
tine tints, and then deepening into a dark, shadowy 
blue. On the other side, the mountains rose steeply, 
with shadowed pinnacles, rent sides, and far pro- 



POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 185 

jecting crags, looking like a line of ruined for- 
tresses, anct to our fancy still trembling and totter- 
ing from Vesuvius' last thunder shake. 

Between Seiano and Punta di Scutola, our prog- 
ress was arrested by a washout in the road. Had 
the overfull streams consulted us, they could not 
have chosen a spot more exactly suited to our minds 
for a row. There was a scrambling among the boat- 
men for passengers, a ringing and jingling of a not 
unmusical jargon, and soon, impelled by a light oar- 
stroke, we were gliding over the then waveless 
waters, looking down into their blue depths for 
coral, — and there we saw it, bright pink coral ! 

At the summit of Punta di Scutola, the beauty 
of the road seemed to culminate, the Capo di Sor- 
rento forming with it the amphitheatre-like enclos- 
ure of a brilliant, luxuriant plain. As we descended 
toward Meta, we looked down on either side into 
deep gorges, filled with peach-bloom and myrtles, 
violets and primroses, rare and delicious odors as- 
sailing us on every hand. Entering upon the Piano 
di Sorrento, with its olive plantations and orange 
groves, its mulberry trees and high laurels, we 
were sure we had reached the land for which Mig- 
non, Goethe's sweet type of all exiles, so longed 
and sighed, — the land where the " soft wind breathes 
from the blue heavens, and the silent myrtle and 



186 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

high laurel stand." Kennst die das ? Every step 
was a new revelation — a challenge to test our 
sense of the beautiful to the utmost. Finally cross- 
ing a bridge at the corner of which stands the an- 
cient and battered San Antonio, his brown stone 
vestments changed into bronze by the slanting 
sunbeams, we were thankful to find ourselves shut 
in between high walls. The long intricate streets 
of Sorrento ended, for us, at an arched gateway 
opening into an orchard of orange and lemon trees, 
with dark, lustrous leaves, ancl in the full luxury 
of ripe fruit; and a walk outlined by blooming rose- 
tree hedges led us to Villa Nardi, the wished-for 
goal of many a traveller. Leaving the arranging 
for rooms and the other et ceteras of arrival to hands 
more competent than mine, I passed through a side- 
door, down a few steps, and stood upon a terrace 
overhanging the sea, guarded by a low parapet and 
battered antique busts. There, too, were laurels 
and immortelles, geraniums and passion vines, olive 
trees from whose stems long sprays of tea-roses were 
swinging in the wind, and low down, on the very 
edge, pansies for thoughts. The bay of Naples 
seemed to be wholly embraced by mountains, the 
view on the left being filled up by the mountainous 
islands of Ischia and Procida, and Vesuvius, al- 
though directly in front of me, forming the right 



POMPEII TO SORRENTO. 187 

mountain flank. Leaning over the parapet and look- 
ing down more than two hundred feet, I saw an 
opening just under me, at the water's edge, and 
knew that there was the grotto of the Sirens. Light 
shadows lay upon the "deep's untrampled flow," 
and for full many a league old Ocean smiled back 
at me ! 



XVII. 

SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 

At Sorrento the traveller is spellbound, — eats ob- 
livious lotus, listening to the songs of a Siren — the 
one who lies in his laurel-shaded tomb at Posilipo. 
Poets have thrown a fairy veil over the whole re- 
gion; out of the rocky promontories, wave-washed 
caverns, and lofty, glittering heights, they have 
wrought wondrous fables and romances. As far 
back as the days of Joshua, the coast was called 
in the Hebrew tongue "The Song of Lamenta- 
tions." A later, and perhaps quite as poetic period, 
under the same inspiration, has peopled the land to 
suit its own strange sweet fancies. 

It is difficult to say in what lies the special fas- 
cination of Sorrento; its climate is delicious, the 
variations never reaching extremes; its sea and 
sky dipped in the same celestial azure, are a con- 
tinual delight; while the radiant and transforming 
quality of its sunshine woven into the medium-like 



SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 189 

atmosphere clothes all with a tissue vesture of gold. 
Its forms harmonize, seeming to have come to a 
stand-still in the beauty of perfect repose — a beauty 
that affects one like the face of Antinous, making 
the soul yearn for that something in Eden lost, 
hear the voice of prophecy in the air, and weep 
from excess of joy. 

The town is built on the coast, where the rocks 
fall steeply into the sea, and running back, spreads 
itself over the spurs pushed down from a torn and 
seamed background of hills. It is divided by a 
great ravine, nearly a mile long, famous as the 
once dwelling-place of some of the powers of evil. 
Looking into its twilight depths, filled with luxuri- 
ant masses of foliage and the odor of opening buds 
and blossoms, one would never suspect the cause of 
its notoriety were it not for the little shelves on the 
sides for the lamps formerly kept burning there to 
frighten away the gnomes and goblins, or whatever 
said powers were called. We are inclined to think 
that the erection of a mill in the bottom of the ra- 
vine has been beneficial in finally driving them 
away; certain it is that they are no friends of prog- 
ress, and generally disappear before an advent of 
unusual activities or an influx of new ideas. 

The Greeks dotted the Sorrentine headland with 
temples and set up their divinities; after them came 



190 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACE. 

the Komans and did likewise ; and we in our walks 
came upon the ruins of these temples, showing where 
a people sitting in darkness once prayed and made 
sacrifices and thank-offerings. Ever and anon we 
paused and wondered if their faith was anything 
more to them than a sentimental dream — if they 
loved, suffered and died under its strange sanc- 
tions ? — and were thankful that we were " born 
into the world after and not before the star was 
seen in Bethlehem." Sometimes our walks led us 
down to the Marina under the cliff, where it is 
said that those who dig for them find sunken 
foundations and the remains of palace walls. We 
found only fishermen's wives weaving nets, and a 
boat shipping oranges, and were told that once a 
road ran along the entire coast, close upon the 
water's edge, but that it had gradually disap- 
peared, the rocks breaking off from time to time 
and filling it up. 

Save II Deserto, which overlooks a world of en- 
chantment, or the crest above Meta with its sup- 
pressed convent, and its little ruin telling of a 
religion far older than that of the convent, we found 
no place that had more subtile fascinations than our 
Villa Nardi. Scarcely a jarring sound from the outer 
world — suggestions of strife, or conflict of opinions — 
and only small hints of progress, penetrated its leafy 



SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 191 

repose. History, too, hardly disturbs its sweet tran- 
quillity ; Saracen robberies, the advent of the French 
in the days of the Kepublic, Queen Joanna coming 
over from Naples with her waywardness and wicked- 
ness, have left only the most shadowy traces. Our 
room was in the top of the house, just over the one 
in which the author of "Agnes of Sorrento" found 
inspiration and adorned the lovely maiden for "pre- 
sentation." Lifting our eyes, we could see Vesuvius 
across the bay, a long white plume floating from his 
crest, or, if at night, it might be a stream of lava 
flowing down his sides; into the window, borne on 
the still air, came odors shaken from orange trees 
and the mystery folded in spring-time blossoms; 
while if we listened, we heard the light waves beat- 
ing gently on the rocks below — that pulsing, throb- 
bing, almost sobbing of the sea, which has in it 
something both of pathos and of peace. 

The morning after our arrival, we unwittingly 
strayed into the Villa garden, and found ourselves in 
the midst of odd surprises and strange caprices, quiet 
shady nooks and open sunny spaces, — with a pic- 
turesque "departure" in a cosey ruin, covered with 
ivy, which hid the secrets of its past, — and a little 
gem of a cottage, where a king slept once upon a 
time, if we may believe "la padrona" whom we 
met at the cottage door. She gave us a basket and 



192 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

bade us "Go fill it with oranges," indicating where 
the largest and sweetest were to be found. Walking 
down the winding foot-path, we soon came where 
thick green boughs interlacing formed a lustrous 
archway, from which branches depended, bent down 
with the weight of their fruit — a great golden dazzle 
before our eyes ! We had thought that we had seen 
fine oranges before, but at once knew we had been 
mistaken: we now believe that there are no such 
oranges in the world as we saw in the garden of 
"Tromontone." 

Beyond the garden is a suppressed monastery, 
which belongs to "Tromontone," — at least the 
guests of the Villa Nardi have the freedom of it. 
The brotherhood was moved by the usual happy 
inspiration of monkish orders in the selection of a 
site for isolation from the world. It would have 
been well if by any arrangement this old castle-like 
structure could have been "The house where Tasso 
was born." It has a large measure of aptitudes for 
historic interests, — its rugged solidity, low archways 
and fantastically wrought sculptures, its secluded 
balcony looking Naples-ward, wondrous vistas play- 
ing with every shade of blue beyond rock-bound 
islands, and in the background interlapping moun- 
tain ridges climbing heavenward. But only monkish 
legends cling to its enchanting ways, only ghosts of 



SORRENTO AND THE AZZTJRA GROTTO. 193 

monks may wander through its desolate corridors 
and along its narrow terrace, penetrated by the 
underswell sounds — the old "shadow songs" — of the 
sea. We never encountered any of the unsubstantial 
brotherhood, although we often spent hours on the 
terrace after nightfall. 

The Albergo del Tasso is pointed out as the place 
where the poet ivas born. It is a little curious how 
easily houses are furnished for the birth needs of 
such celebrities, — with a sort of "on demand" readi- 
ness which in itself tends to throw on them a shade 
of suspicion. It now matters little which of the 
places making the claim really witnessed the into-life 
advent of the deeply wronged Torquato. More inter- 
esting to us was the fact, that, returning after long 
years of cruel and unworthy imprisonment, he was 
received somewhere in the tranquil, soothing loveli- 
ness of the Sorrentine coast by a faithful, loved, and 
loving sister. 

It is a mystery how we ever got away from Sor- 
rento, or it would be, did we not reflect that it was 
our intention, when we left, to return the same even- 
ing. The morning had been pronounced superb for 
Capri and the Azzura Grotto, — therefore we sought 
the sanctum of "Tromontone" and demanded a 
boat, — a good sized sail, well manned and equipped. 
The cliff of the Villa Nardi seems to have been chis- 



194 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

elled to a perpendicular, so precipitously does it sink 
to the water line. The way down to the sea is by 
broad interior stairways, which lead one through cor- 
ridors, galleries, and vaulted passages, all cut into 
the solid rock. Toward the sea are arched openings 
and small landings protected by parapets, whence 
perchance were once witnessed the departure of gay 
and brilliant retinues, or the manoeuverings of the 
Roman fleet going to, and returning from conquests: 
certainly they are not of recent origin, for they are 
worn as if by the tread of ages. On the Villa Nardi 
terrace were some beautiful Sorrentine girls, of 
whom we bought pretty ribbon neckties, such as are 
manufactured in the vicinity of the town. It is a 
pity that the climate, so beneficent in other matters, 
should not preserve the beauty of these girls. How 
ever fatal it may be as a gift, while it lasts (and 
strange tales are told of the infatuation of adventur- 
ous travellers, particularly of young scions of noble 
English houses), it soon passes away. With girl- 
hood all traces of beauty are gone; and the old 
women are supremely ugly — angular, black and 
shrivelled like mummies. 

Emerging from the cavern-like passage at the base 
of the cliff, w r e found our boat waiting, but between 
us and it were several yards of unstable surf, with 
six men in red flannel shirts, and the always Phryg- 



SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 195 

ian cap, standing knee-deep therein. Before one 
could guess how the embarkation was to be accom- 
plished, he was seized by a pair of strong arms and 
borne unharmed to the boat. As there was not 
breeze enough for sails, the rowers, taking long- 
sweeps, bent silently to the oars, and the laughing 
waters encircled us with tossed crests of starry 
radiance. 

In the early morning the Sorrentine coast lies in 
shadow; the cut and torn face of the cliffs, the hand- 
some villas, white convents, luxuriant gardens and 
groves, the wild wooded mountains above, are seen 
in clear, perfect outlines, with garniture of strangely 
wondrous beguilements of color and fine-strung har- 
monies. My companions set their faces seaward, but 
it was impossible for me to take my eyes from the 
glorious vision of the mainland. I let it sink deep 
into my soul, trying thereby to grasp a memory that 
should be ineffaceable — a literal "joy forever!" 
How beautiful it all was, and is, no mortal may 
know who has not seen it! 

Nowhere, perhaps, does one yield himself more 
readily to the illusions of the Greeks than on this 
delightful shore. It is easy to believe in the benefi- 
cent iEolus, and the loving Athena; and it must be 
the Sirens who lure travellers hither and make them 
forget their longings and life-wasting heart-sick- 



196 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

nesses. We were soon carried past the ruined tem- 
ple of Hercules, standing on a storm-beaten head- 
land, and the village of Massa, up among the trees 
a little distance from the shore. Rounding the Min- 
ervian promontory, we struck into the open sea, and 
saw the cliffs of breezy Capri, illumined by the morn- 
ing sun, rising from the bosom of the azure gulf. A 
moment after, the silence and dreamy forgetfulness 
that had fallen upon us were broken. Our boatmen, 
beginning with a low, sweet prelude, which gradu- 
ally grew stronger, finally launched out into the 
loud, swelling strains of a Sorrentine hymn, — one 
that we had sometimes heard at evening-tide, an in- 
vocation to their patron saint, San Antonio, — the 
light stroke of the oars and the sound of the sea, 
furnishing a minor-keyed accompaniment. 

Arrived at the Marina of the island, we did not 
land, but were transferred to a smaller boat, for it 
was to see the Azzura Grotto that we had voyaged to 
Capri. Keeping close to the base of the cliffs, we 
soon saw the bold point of Damecuta, above the sil- 
ver gray of olive slopes. Beneath was an opening in 
the sea-wall, but so small that we had no suspicion 
that it was the entrance to the Grotto. A retreating 
wave cleared its throat, however — our boat was shoved 
in, and the returning sea sent us far into a cavern, 
where no winds ever come, nor the glare of the sun- 



SORRENTO AND THE AZZURA GROTTO. 197 

light, and where the sound of the outer ocean becomes 
an indistinct, mournful murmur. As the eye grew ac- 
customed to the obscurity, the vaulted roof, tinted by 
a reflection from the opening, the undulating sur- 
face of the water bent into innumerable slight curves, 
and the white sand, or mother of pearl, whichever it 
may be, fathoms below, became visible. The chief 
attraction of the Grotto, that from which it receives 
its name, is its color, the general tone being blue, but 
varying from the faintest to the deepest shades. If 
one penetrates to the recesses on the further side of 
the Grotto and turns his back on the single opening 
through which light comes, he perceives a change of 
color ; lilacs stray ofT into shadowy places, where they 
deepen into violet-purples, and now and then the 
edge of a distant wave seems to catch a rose tint. 
Dipping our hands in the water and scattering the 
drops, they fell back in phosphorescent jewels and 
glittering garlands of silver. It was perhaps in this 
" cave of the sea " that the Sirens obtained the gems 
with which they decked themselves to allure unwary 
mariners. The rock forms, above the water, are ir- 
■regular, in places stalactite,- while below, the lines 
are wavelike, with horizontal grooves where moss 
grows; and far down at the base are shells and rare 
corals. We did not explore the distant chambers, 
but taking advantage of a full wave were borne out 



198 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

into the white daylight. It was too late to return 
that evening; and so we got away from Sorrento 
without intending it; else we might be biding there 
still, and in thought forsaking our homes forever. 
We opine that there are more beautiful things in 
Capri than the Azzura Grotto. 



XVIII. 

CAPRI AND NAPLES. 

The wonders of Capri are not found in either blue or 
green grottos, but in its manifold outward forms, and 
the infinite play of color upon its ever-blooming gar- 
dens and rocky mountain walls. Among its chief 
attractions are the lofty heights whence may be 
seen how the waves pour into the bay of Naples, 
how they besiege in alternate combat and sportive 
jest the mainland Cape Minerva, and how great 
ships, ploughing through the blue waters, come 
from France, the African coast, and the far East. 

The island rises perpendicularly, from nine hun- 
dred to nineteen hundred feet, out of the Gulf of 
Salerno, presenting smoothfaced escarpments, vary- 
ing lines of pyramidal and pinnacled cuts, and arches 
and grotto openings fringed with stalactites. So 
worn is the water-line of its rocks by a thousand 
years' beating of waves, that huge cliffs overhang 
the sea like baseless fabrics of dreams; beneath them 



200 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

flash emerald fires, and the ocean's mighty swell 
keeps to its eternal idyl. The central mountain wall 
runs north and south, and extends quite to the 
shores, where it breaks off suddenly, leaving its ex- 
tremities gable-shaped; if one chooses, he may fancy 
they look like shattered cathedral fronts. Toward 
the west, the coast sinks amphitheatre-like, its cres- 
cent range of terraces loaded with olive trees, while 
a little further, two ravines rend the shore wall, ex- 
posing the heart-secrets of the island; the torn sides 
soothed by the sweetness and exquisite beauty of 
daisy-stars, myrtles, and anemones. At the north- 
western extremity are three deserted batteries and 
a lighthouse. It was here that Murat landed when 
he stormed and took the midway-between-sea-and- 
sky Anacapri; how he accomplished the brilliant 
coup-de-main, is as incomprehensible to an observer 
of the spot, to-day, as it appears to have been to the 
English in 1808. 

Although the western half of Capri attains a much 
greater height than the eastern, the coast scenery of 
the latter far surpasses that of the former in grand- 
eur. The Marina Piccola, a small cove between two 
boldly projecting precipices, is a wild spot, haunted 
with gloom and the hoarse cry of sea-gulls. The 
crenelated walls of the Castello, a thousand feet 
above, seen in sharp outlines against the sky, and 



CAPRI AND NAPLES. 201 

the inaccessible cones of the Faraglioni with a gleam 
of sunlight upon their dull gray-red, rising in the 
distance, relieve somewhat its wonted dreary aspect ; 
while a few olive-groves on a near mountain spur 
indicate where cultivation and the lovely Yal Tra- 
gara begin on the southern slope. During storms, 
the waves seize upon and carry off sometimes the 
few huts stuck among the rocks. In fair weather 
the air is still, and the place offers a warm shel- 
tered retreat for coral fishermen. Later in the sea- 
son, quails returning from a more southern wintering, 
make it one of their resting stations, — unfortunately 
for themselves, because they are often detained to 
supply a demand of the Naples market. 

Between Monte Tuoro and II Salto, a gigantic arch 
crowns a piled-up mass of colossal cliffs. It is one 
of Nature's Titanic triumphs, the portal being eighty 
feet in height, with open windows on either side; 
and adorned with wind and wave wrought relievos, 
shelving pediments and Gothic-like pinnacles. If 
one comes from the land side, looking through a 
floor-way of rocks in chaotic disorder, he sees an 
underflow of water, the deeper and bluer for its 
sunlessness, and also the vast opening of the mar- 
vellous archway against a background of ocean and 
solitude. In the shadows of the overhanging brink, 
leaning over the side of our idly drifting boat, we 



202 A NEW TREAD 18 AN OLD TRACK. 

sought for purple growing sponges, and heard the 
while a wild refrain mingling with the sound of 
the wind, — perchance the song of the Sirens whose 
three islands we could see not far away. 

The town of Capri is on a crest between the north- 
ern and southern shores, almost under the shadows 
of the central dividing wall. It has no architectural 
interest ; but its domed roofs, grape-vine shaded ve- 
randas, and gardens with palm-trees, are pleasant 
sights. Travellers find the way to the town rough 
and fatiguing, but the light, elastic-footed island 
maidens climb it easily: they go up and down, 
laughing and chattering; making nothing of its 
ruggedness, or of the loads of luggage which they 
carry on their heads, or of others of stones, boards, 
and casks, which they sometimes carry. The Ca- 
prian type of beauty is more Grecian even than 
that of the peninsula, the brow is low and the nose 
straight, the complexion sun-dyed, rather than olive, 
and there is a rich crimson on lips, and in the flush 
of cheeks. 

The most famous place on the island is the height 
of the eastern headland. Here, through airy golden 
distances, one sees the snow-crested mount of Sant. 
Angelo, across the gulf Amalfi, pressed against the 
rocks of a gorge, and thence the whole beautiful 
coast as far as the Calabrian cape Nicosa, the per- 



CAPRI AND NAPLES. 203 

spective enlarged by the undulating glow of the 
sea's amethystine and sapphire hues. This height 
is the site of the once Villa Jovis of Tiberius. If 
the visitor sits down to dream, his imagination is 
soon lost, not only in what has been, but in what 
might be, for the place is infinite in possibilities, 
and to a dreamer the field of opportunities is al- 
ways blossoming. The memory of Tiberius attaches 
itself to everything in the island, even to the nam- 
ing of one of its wines, but it more particularly in- 
fests this spot, because it was from the cliff, II Salto, 
that he compelled his victims to leap into the sea, 
seven hundred feet below. Everywhere nature en- 
deavors to obliterate the stain of his profanations, 
the recitals of which are fitly confined to a dead 
language. She strews flowers over the places that 
suggest him, and in their sweetness and beauty, 
the delight of gardens and vineyards, and the 
magnificence that fills the vision on every hand, 
history is forgotten. Over the edge of II Salto 
nung fine rock jonquils and delicate tinted violets, 
which a venturous Englishmen sought to reach, but 
becoming conscious of the horrors of the depth be- 
low, he resigned them, with no other loss than that 
of his hat. It was so long afloat in the air that we 
never knew if it reached the bottom : a stone thrown 
from the brink sent back no report of progress in 



204 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

less than twenty seconds. Not many paces distant, 
we found the ruins of Villa Jovis, remains of mar- 
ble columns, stucco walls, and a corridor paved with 
mosaics. While seeking to trace the general plan of 
the structure, we perceived that black clouds had in- 
vaded the blueness of the heavens, and that on the 
sea were heavy bodeful shadows. There was a gleam 
of lightning, a peal of thunder, and then a furious 
gust of wind blustered round the headland. Small 
boats, that a moment before were dozing on the 
tranquil bosom of the deep, dipped their sails, and 
made for the sheltering coves of the mainland. 
The edges of the rain clouds bent dowm to the up- 
lifted waves of the sea, and, like a phalanx of the 
daughters of Nereus, joined by the sons of iEolus, 
steadily advanced upon us. The fury of the storm 
gathered about the island; upheaving waters in 
frenzied rage dashed against its rocky sides, while 
in cavern depths reverberating sounds of thunder 
responded to mighty peals rolling about lofty cliffs. 
Not wishing to follow the Englishman's hat over 
the rampart, we finally sought refuge in the little 
chapel of Santa Maria del Soccorso, built on the 
summit of the headland, where there is also a her- 
mitage and a good-natured friar. When storms set 
toward II Salto, the friar tolls the bell of this chapel 
to warn sailors of the dangerous cliff; so it was not 



CAPRI AND NAPLES. 205 

long before to the other sounds of the tempest was 
added that of the tolling bell. 

On the highest table-land of the western part of 
the island is the village of Anacapri. It was for- 
merly reached by a stairway of five hundred and 
sixty steps, cut in the solid rocks, the overhanging 
sides protected by a parapet, while there were fre- 
quent landing-places for fatigued and poetic climb- 
ers. What magnificent pictures the handsome wo- 
men and girls must have made in those days, 
grouped on the landings, or going up and down 
the rocky stairways, with pitchers, bundles of drift- 
wood, or other burdens on their heads! The new 
road is not wholly prosaic, for it has fine outlooks, 
and the usual mode of making the ascent is not 
without picturesque accessories. The traveller must 
have not only a donkey — the one animal suited to 
the steepness of the road — but he must have a 
muletress; and he can choose a pretty one if he 
likes — one with a soft voice and great black eyes. 
It is said that because of a purer Hellenic origin, the 
Anacapri beauties are handsomer and prouder than 
these of lower Capri. They certainly have a more 
graceful, statuesque beauty, and their manners are 
more in keeping with such a claim than are those 
of their progressive sisters who live nearer the 
Marina. On the summit of Monte Salaro, which 



206 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

is the highest point on the island, lives the hermit 
of Anacapri. Here within reach of the clouds, and 
in sight of the grandest spectacles of nature, he 
passes all the days of his life. His days are lon- 
ger than other men's; he sees the first indications 
of their beginning — the first gleam of dawn be- 
yond the Apulian Mountains — and the last rays of 
the sun before he plunges into the night of the 
western Mediterranean. 

If Caprians are simpler and more superstitious 
than their neighbors of the mainland, they are also 
more religious. At church and in processionals, 
their demeanor is grave and reverent. The Madonna 
del Carmine, the patron saint of the coral-fisher, is 
an object of especial veneration. To her good offices 
are attributed all deliverances from perils by sea, 
particularly those of fishermen; consequently her 
festas are many and brilliant. 

On the deck of the steamer by which we came to 
Naples, while waiting the arrival of our Blue Grotto 
passengers, we saw the Tarantella. The dancers 
kept time to the music of a tambourine and guitar, 
weaving picturesque representations of a passionate 
wooing, drifting through the varied phases of its 
jealousies and raptures. The beauty and natural- 
ness of their movements, and certain graces of pose, 
reminded us of the popular legend regarding this 



CAPRI AND NAPLES. 207 

dance. The Sirens, desiring a new gift from the 
Graces, were taught the Tarantella; but the sea- 
women soon found that it was not suited to their 
forms, and in despair gave it up (killed themselves, 
according to one version). The fishermen's daugh- 
ters who lived on the shore had seen it as danced 
by the Sirens, and betaking themselves to remote 
places in the mountains, practised it. The Graces 
seeing how well it suited the lithe maidenly figures, 
lent their aid, and added thereto certain new charms. 
It was not long before the daughters of all the coasts 
in this region had learned the joy -inspiring dance. 
But the bright-eyed beauty of Capri will tell you 
that you cannot see the Tarantella with its " Bold 
ire, dohi sdegni, e dohi pad " anywhere but in Capri. 
If there is a noisier town than Naples, we have 
yet to find it. Walking through the streets for 
the first time, one naturally thinks that the inmates 
of some lunatic asylum are abroad, for if there is 
an idler who chances to have no companion, he 
talks noisily to himself. The Neapolitans are too 
nearly Greeks not to be noisy and loquacious; when 
to these individual traits are added the clamor and 
bustle of traffic, and of thousands of organ-grinders 
and puppet-players, the confusion becomes intoler- 
able. Even the bells are noisier in Naples than 
elsewhere. The only quiet place to be found during 



208 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the day is the Villa Reale, a garden-like promenade 
skirting the shore. Within a few feet of you, the 
sea breaks in foaming crests upon a sandy beach, 
where you see the moving shadows of a long line 
of trees. Through the foliage appears Vesuvius and 
a neighboring mountain, both of a pale violet hue, 
and above the level of the Villa, beyond intervening 
gardens and the flat roofs and balconies of the 
palaces of the Riviera di Chiaja, are heights on 
which are churches, monasteries, and castles. There 
are Greek temples and copies of some of the finest 
productions of the chisel scattered through the 
grounds; and fountains (often not musical for the 
want of water) are at the crossings of the footways. 
A beautiful feathery palm stands at the entrance 
of the so-called temple of Virgil, a structure wholly 
unworthy its position and object. The temple of 
Tasso on the opposite side of the main walk is 
scarcely an improvement. 

Keeping westward from the Villa and ascending 
a steep zigzag pathway, one passes through an old 
dilapidated gateway on the left, and reaches the so- 
called tomb of Virgil. It matters not that the ashes 
of the poet have not been there since the 15th cen- 
tury (if indeed they ever were); so long as there 
are those who read the iEneid and Georgics, the 
hillside above the Grotto of Posilippo will bear the 



CAPRI AND NAPLES. 209 

foot-print of the pilgrim. Virgil, if not regarded 
in exactly the same way as during the Middle Ages, 
continues to be the enchanter of the Neapolitan 
coast. Nothing of the melancholy sentiment that 
clings to many heroic bards attaches itself to him. 
He knew what it was to have an Emperor for his 
friend, and to be conscious in his lifetime that he 
had attained immortality. 



XIX. 

IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 

If one is seeking fair promises for the future of 
Italy, he must visit the Protestant schools of Naples, 
where he will find the generation that some day is to 
govern the land. Many of the peculiar difficulties 
encountered in the founding of these schools have 
been overcome. Priestly interference, however, con- 
tinues to be a source of annoyance in spite of the 
friendly offices of the government. The craftiness 
of Rome finds means of disturbance and hindrance 
more hurtful than its former rude interruptions and 
open persecutions. 

The children of these schools are principally from 
the lower classes, but with few exceptions, they 
have good faces, and evince more than ordinary 
capacities, responding correctly and without hesita- 
tion to the questions put to them. In the higher 
grades, they are taught geography, mathematics, 
history, and drawing. History seems to be the fa- 



IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 211 

vorite study of the older boys; one of them recited 
for us a passage from Roman history, with an inter- 
est and enthusiasm, worthy the belief that they were 
" Romans all," and I suspect that he did labor under 
that impression. The copy-books shown us, were 
marvels of neatness — a quality seemingly alien to 
Italian habits, and there was a perfectness in lines 
and strokes that would be looked for in vain in the 
same grade of schools elsewhere. The drawing- 
books reminded us that Italy is still the school of 
forms, real if not ideal. There were few attempts 
at landscapes, only such as were needful to fill out 
the thought of a boy with his goat, a maiden at a 
wayside shrine, or a peasant leading his heavy-laden 
donkey down some rugged declivity. 

" Vedi Napoli e poi mori " can have no reference 
to the city itself, unless the proverb, oblivious of its 
original intent, be made to intimate that one might 
die of the wearying monotony of long lines of com- 
monplace looking structures, such as the repaired, 
seven-storied buildings of the Toledo, or the unat- 
tractive, flat -roofed, iron -balconied palaces of the 
Riviera di Chiaja. Fortunately, one may turn out 
from these streets, superb only in length and 
straightness, into little narrow by-streets, which, 
rising and falling steeply between high walls, are 
full of picturesque incidents, and afford the richest 



212 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

local color. There are snrall shops, open stalls, and 
overhanging balconies filled with flowers, brilliant 
arrays of clothesline dependencies, groups of traf- 
fickers in cheap mosaics and coral necklaces, and 
musical trios taking their siestas, the idle guitar or 
tambourine supporting the head of the unconscious 
dozer. Mules, adorned with strings of buttons and 
tinkling bells, climb the rude stairways, also the 
goat-herd with his flock of milch-goats, returning 
from his daily route through the Toledo or other 
principal streets. Sailors, their eyes bright and fierce, 
their teeth dazzling, in flannel shirts and Phrygian 
caps, and women, whose beauty is certainly not 
Greek, in red shawls and violet or orange necker- 
chiefs, gesticulate and elbow one another with an in- 
finite waste of emotion and emphasis. Through an 
opening, one occasionally sees a handsome balustrade, 
a white colonnade, a columned terrace, or other in- 
dication of a sometime period of architectural gran- 
deur, and assigns it to the days of the Spanish 
dominion; for the Spanish grandee brought hither 
and w r rought into his structures the stateliness, grace 
and beauty of his Moorish culture. These admirable 
scenic effects, striking dramatic displays, and archi- 
tectural figures, have rich Rembrandtish backgrounds. 
Their tones are mellowed by the meagre light that 
falls between the almost meeting roof-projections 



IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 213 

above, and the peculiar tenderness of the sky. They 
delight us especially by strange subtleties of contrast, 
ever-changing piquancies of color, and variety in 
detail of forms. It is- not to be denied that there is 
much filth, squalor and disorder, but these do not 
disturb the traveller of philosophic aptitudes. 

If we may read a people's past history in its 
museums, we may see its present spiritual condition 
in its churches. Gross sensuality and intense sen- 
sational superstition are the dominant expression of 
the churches of Naples, — of their coiffured Madonnas, 
altars loaded with jewelry, and pretentious archi- 
tectural decorations. The Cathedral, commenced in 
1272, retains few of its original characteristics, hav- 
ing been materially altered in its frequent restora- 
tions. Beneath the high altar is the richly orna- 
mented shrine of the Neapolitan's patron saint, St. 
Januarius. The remains of the saint were deposited 
here during the plague of 1497. The offensiveness 
of Paganism in Catholicism, seen in many of the 
chapels of the Cathedral, is nowhere so prominent 
as in the relievos of the Font, a green basalt basin 
nearly covered with Bacchanalian thyrsi and masks. 
The chapel of St. Januarius is entered from the 
right aisle of the Cathedral. Here, three times an- 
nually, is wrought the great miracle, the liquefaction 
of the saint's blood. Not infrequently, on these oc- 



214 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

casions, the wildest scenes are witnessed, particularly 
if the saint happens to be a little dilatory in his part 
of the performance. Then he is assailed by some 
of the throng with threats and reproaches, while 
others faint from the exhaustion of suspended ex- 
pectancy; a few, quaking and trembling with fear, 
take refuge in flight. The chapel is built in the form 
of a Greek cross, with eight altars and many fine 
columns of brocatello. It is marvellously rich in 
precious marbles, ornaments of gold, and frescos 
instinct with genuine feeling — a remnant of the 
genius and vigor of an undegenerate epoch. The 
bad taste of the present epoch culminates in the 
sculptured affectations -of the church of Santa Maria 
della Pietra, in the bedizened Madonnas, fashionably 
clothed saints, and labored allegories. Hour-glasses, 
skulls, and bloody stigmata, against gilding, polished 
marble, and Doric columns, however fitly suggestive, 
are inharmonious. In the midst of such a dazzling 
magnificence as is seen in this church, one is startled 
by the figure of a dead Christ, wrapped in a winding 
sheet, lying in the depths of a crypt, its ghastliness 
made more striking by the dim light of wax candles. 
If one visits the Convent of San Martino on a 
height overlooking the city, he finds himself in quite 
another atmosphere. In the elaborate architectural 
decorations are recognizable the purer aspirations of 



IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 215 

the seventeenth century, animated by the more spirit- 
ual life of the preceding one. The figures, in general 
nobly formed, have an open-air freedom of movement 
and drapery that harmonizes admirably with lofty, 
broad spanned arches and stately columns. In the 
church there is an incredible accumulation of precious 
marble, while sculpture and painting have added all 
their possible graces and beauty. Of the almost 
numberless pictures, Spagnoletto's " Descent from 
the Cross" is the most wonderful in its intense, 
vision-like reality. The background is dark, mourn- 
ful, full of mystery and sympathy. The atmosphere 
seems to quiver as with the after palpitation of a 
sudden shock. The groups of figures are strangely 
awed, but not overcome, and are vigorous both in 
composition and action. The face of the Christ is 
in shadow, and in this and the superb head are 
centered the expression and power of His divinity. 
When the red silk hangings which protect the pic- 
ture are drawn aside, the sunlight falling upon it 
illuminates the foreground, which is warmed also 
by the reflection from the curtains, while the lugu- 
brious background retreats, if possible, into a deeper 
obscurity, intensifying the strong contrasts of light 
and shade, the subtleties and handling of which, 
few understood better than Caravaggio's pupil. 
The convent has many colonnaded courts; but 



216 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

one, surrounded by white marble porticos, the pave 
ments bordered with shrubbery, and in the centre a 
cistern deep and clear, seemed to us especially beau- 
tiful. In the South one learns to appreciate the 
beauty of white marble; beneath an intensely blue 
sky, and set in a luminous atmosphere, it loses its 
coldness — its polish and whiteness become magnifi- 
cence. 

One of the finest and most extended views of the 
city and bay of Naples, we had from the ramparts 
of the Castle of St. Elmo which is above San Martino. 
The near mountain slopes were of perfect grace and 
the tenderest olive green ; beneath were the convent 
gardens, avenues of shady trellises, and now and 
then terraces with grand, isolated ■ trees. The city 
was spread fair and glittering at our feet, Posilipo 
with its violet chasms being on one hand, and on 
the other, purple mountain ridges reaching off toward 
Sorrento. The bending shore embraced the blue sea 
and the loveliest islands swimming in sunshine; 
Ischia and Procida are the jewels that "set off" 
the beauty of the bay of Naples. The warm golden 
light around us melted into azure in the distance, 
fold following after fold and losing itself in the 
impenetrable. 

The tourist wanders, day after day, through the 
"Museo Borbonico" of Naples, to discover at last 



IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 217 

that he has made scarcely a beginning in the rinding 
out of its treasures. Perhaps nowhere else does the 
past, its history and art, become so palpably a seem- 
ing present, as in the midst of this multitude rescued 
from the charnel-house of time and chance, this host 
of white statues marshalled from the ideal ranks of 
antiquity. We see such youths as Charmides; stern 
Junos, immortal born; heroic, helmet clad Minervas; 
Jupiters, veritably gods, — the expressions of what 
Greek thought conceived to be supreme, physical, 
and moral truths. Here, too, we find remains of 
Pompeii and Herculaneum, mural decorations, speci- 
mens of architecture, and collections of ornaments 
once worn by belles and dignitaries. Of Roman art 
— if that may be so called, which closely follows the 
laws of Greek art — there are emperors of heroic forms 
and action, statesmen and orators worthy the fame 
of the Roman tribune, athletes wonderful in a beauty 
born of the gymnasium, and Roman matrons — Agrip- 
pinas — strong, energetic, and powerful. One may see 
here the changing thoughts of the national and in- 
dividual soul. He may read as in a book the history 
of the decline of Art — may begin with the highest 
purely Greek ideals which rejected everything but 
the most graceful in form and exalted in mood, and 
follow it through a gradual lessening of intellectual 
greatness and refinement, an increasing rudeness of 



218 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

gifts and manners, and innovations of personal egot- 
ism, till it seemingly ends in mere portraiture. 

The Grotto Posilipo — only a narrow passage during 
the Middle Ages, arid by the people supposed to have 
been opened by a " magician " (Virgil) is now a 
noble and lofty arched tunnel, well lighted and ven- 
tilated. It was our good fortune to see it on one of 
those few days in March when it is resplendent, the 
sun being in such a position as to shine directly 
through its entire length. Beyond the Grotto, we 
entered upon an open country without finding its 
promised quiet, for we were immediately besieged by 
an army of guides from which it was impossible to 
free ourselves till we reached the coast four miles 
distant — the promontory of Coroglio. Here we saw 
opposite us Nisida, whither Brutus came after the 
murder of Caesar, and where he took leave of Portia 
before setting out for Philippi. Further on, sleeping 
in a dream woven of mist, we found the Puteoli of 
the Romans, where Paul, the chosen strong man of 
the Lord, landed — now Pozzuoli, a miserable vil- 
lage, filled with importunate beggars and disagree- 
ably officious ciceroni. The shore is strewn with the 
fragments of an era of splendor long since passed 
away. In imperial days, its harbor sheltered ships 
freighted with the treasures of Egypt, Arabia, and 
Syria, and the gently sloping hills in the background 



IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 219 

were crowned with handsome villas. The famous tem- 
ple of Serapis was restored to something like its ear- 
liest grandeur, by Marcus Aurelius and Septimus 
Severus, and festive crowds thronged its courts and 
porticos. It is almost impossible to distinguish the 
original purposes of the many ruins found in and 
near Pozzuoli, so mutilated and submerged are they 
by the encroaching sea and volcanic eruptions. The 
amphitheatre, on an eminence behind the town, is 
one of the most extensive; it seated 30,000 people; 
the arena was 336 feet long, and 138 feet broad. In 
the vast subterranean passages lie massive prostrate 
columns, and along the walls hang pendant vines, 
from which the percolating water, as from Undine's 
garments, falls drop by drop. All sites of ancient 
Roman cities offer like remains of huge structures 
dedicated to gladiatorial scenes; death throes became 
the amusements of antiquity, for its life, degenerating, 
culminated in oppressive brutality and the thirst for 
blood. 

We went out of our way for a look at the Solfa- 
tara, the crater of a half extinct volcano, not far 
from Pozzuoli. The ground in the vicinity was 
warm, and seemed to us to be hollow. Through the 
oblong fissures, vaporous and sulphureous gases as- 
cended, while occasionally the surface spouted boil- 
ing water. We thought some of the crevices deep 



220 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

enough to allow us a glimpse into the secrets of the 
volcano, but the perceptible shakiness under our feet 
soon determined us that we had business elsewhere. 
Near Monte Nuovo, the upheaval of an earth- 
quake of 1538, a road leading to the right takes 
the traveller along the northern slopes above Lake 
Avernus. The glamour of legend and magic is spread 
over the entire region. Here was enacted the grand 
historic Cumoean tragedy — the scenes that live in 
the iEneid and Odyssey. CumaB with her Grecian 
thought, culture, and refinement of manners, came 
to be the queen mistress of the coast. Scarcely a 
shadow of her remains; broken marble capitals are 
sometimes found beneath overgrowths of lupines 
and ivies, and flowers are gathered in the crevices 
of what are called fallen tombs. Here, by the shore 
of Avernus, the dread Sibyl, to whom the gods had 
granted countless years, but denied the gift of beau- 
ty, guarded the golden bough, and, powerful to un- 
veil the future, uttered her oracles. Hence were 
carried the new sibylline leaves that were delivered 
to Tarquinus Superbus from the summit of the Jan- 
iculum, near Rome. The grotto of the Sibyl, whence, 
according to Virgil, many voices resounded, is silent; 
the entrance to the " Lower Regions," which was 
"open day and night," if the Sibyl rightly informed 
iEneas, is now closed, and a fee demanded from 



IN AND ABOUT NAPLES. 221 

each person who is curious about what may be on 
the other side. Dark forests no longer overhang 
the lake, but there are large chestnut trees under 
which one may sit, and, looking into its smiling 
face, see the shadows of clouds, and listen to the 
low monotonous murmur of the waves, interrupted 
only by the occasional cry of some adventurous bird 
floating in the air above. 

Our excursion terminated with Baise, the once so- 
called "marble city by the soft sea." It wears now 
no holiday garb, and offers nothing of interest but 
its ruins and its magnificent bay. Sometimes the 
former extend quite into the billowy •blue; now it 
is a marvellously beautiful pavement and now the 
foundations of a villa or temple. Boys, ragged and 
sunburnt, brought us baskets full of fragments of 
marbles and mosaics, and when they found we 
would have none of them, they offered us pinks 
and roses. Weird, ugly-looking old women pro- 
posed to dance for us the tarantella, but, remem- 
bering the bright-eyed beauties of Capri, we de- 
clined their services. And now, the land of the 
myrtle and laurel, the Greece of Latium, ruin-strewn 
from Baiee to the city of fair Parthenope, is no 
longer for us a mere dream. 



XX. 

ROMAN CARNIVAL, TRAJAN'S FORUM, AND THE 
AVENTINE. 

The first suggestions of spring, the browns of the 
Pincio giving place to light greens, and the dark 
complexion of the borderways to perceptible varia- 
tions of bloom, came with the Roman festival — the 
Carnival. This holiday word, with us, has a mean- 
ing different from the Roman signification. We as- 
sociate it with balls and other gaieties that will 
yield large receipts for charities, especially charities 
for children. Not so the Roman; it is regarded sim- 
ply as a season in which to lay up an excess of pleas- 
ure, the pay-money in advance for the abstinences 
of Lent. 

Traditionally there was a time when the ten days 
of the Roman Carnival was really a merry season; 
when its approach was announced by heralds who 
rode magnificent, gaily caparisoned chargers, and 
bore gorgeous banners curiously devised; when the 



ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN'S FORUM. 223 

Corso, swept and garnished, its palace walls hung 
with bright-colored tapestries, windows and cor- 
nices wreathed with garlands, and balconies rilled 
with animated spectators, looked like an enchanted 
festive hall. Then, Roman rank and beauty, duly 
masked, lent themselves to "the madder the mer- 
rier" spirit of the time, jested with cowls, laughed 
at dancing harlequins, and exchanged bright glances, 
bouquets, and billet-doux with the joy-riotous throng; 
and high dignitaries in Church and State, in sumptu- 
ous carriages, rolled through the streets, engaging 
in the fiercest combats of bonbons, and listening 
relishingly to the mirth-provoking plays of doctors, 
soothsayers, and shepherdesses. 

We returned to Rome only on the last day of 
the Carnival, but we saw enough of its spirit to 
know that the festival of the present keeps no truly 
merry nor brilliant traditional promises. Its inspi- 
rations, the native sans-souci of the Italian charac- 
ter, and the love of the intoxication of unrestrained 
revelry, have been lost in the rapid march of national 
progress. The people of the capital city regard them- 
selves as no longer children, but are not quite ready 
to put away all childish things. When they have 
found substitutes therefor, their lost loves will be 
replaced by their betters, more intellectual amuse- 
ments, and a love of work. 



224 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Having hastily domiciled ourselves in our old 
quarters, we descended to the Corso. We wan- 
dered leisurely through its entire length, meeting 
crowds of masked and muffled people, but no might- 
be delightful heroines, nor probable over-brave cava- 
liers; and received, but not quite philosophically, a 
share, of the dense calcareous shower pouring down 
from the well-filled balconies. The scenic displays 
were certainly striking, but not picturesque, and 
the forms of jest were wholly unflavored with that 
light mockery and brilliant repartee, set down in 
our thoughts as especially carnivalesque. We should 
have done better to have followed the example of 
the Pope, and remained shut up in our palace. Oc- 
casionally there was a cry of " La Kegina," but we 
looked in vain for a face that might by any possi- 
bility be that of the lovely Margaret. 

With sunset the chalky rain of confetti ceased. 
Jovial students brought their varied exploits to a 
finis, and capering clowns cut short their tricks and 
jests. A Mephistopheles, clothed in the fiercest red, 
was unwittingly beguiled and led away by a ruddy, 
wine-pouring Ganymede, who was much too stout 
and ugly to have been the one intended to suc- 
ceed Hebe in Olympus. As the duskiness of the twi- 
light deepened, carriages and palace walls seemed 
to have received from the over-full heavens a sudden 



ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN's FORUM. 225 

sprinkling of stars; the effect was so beautiful that 
we forgot our complaining retrospective compari- 
sons in an enchanted present delight. There was 
the increasing confusion of tongues, the thickening 
of the crowd, the added vigor in pushing and scram- 
bling, which always precede the peroration of the 
Carnival, the moccolo; then suddenly windows blazed 
with light, fantastic transparencies, hung from all 
available projections, and tall pyramids of flaming 
gas-jets sprang up at street corners and palace 
gateways. 

The ceasing of all order in driving is the usual 
signal for the final spectacle. The multiplication of 
sounds became more rapid, and the tumult more 
general. An immense illuminated car moved slowly 
through the throng, in the direction of the Porta 
del Popolo. From it went up in quick succession 
rockets, Koman candles, and other brilliant pyrotech- 
nic projectiles, but their beautiful combinations of 
color were nearly lost in a dim glare above the 
housetops, so limited was the range of the specta- 
tors' vision in consequence of the narrowness of the 
streets and the height of the buildings. Following 
and clinging to the moving magazine of fireworks, 
were certain seeming veritable imps, clad in intense 
flame-red, who leaped about in a gymnastic frenzy, 
and startled the crowd by throwing into its midst 



226 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

lighted torches and yards of what looked like blaz 
ing ribbons. Each of the masked had his little moc- 
colo, and did his best to defend it. Now and then 
we encountered an enthusiastic and somewhat artis- 
tically dressed carnivaller, who held aloft a whole 
bouquet of burning tapers, which he found difficult 
to protect, as it was exposed to assaults from win- 
dows and balconies. 

When the cries of " Senza moccolo " and " Sia am- 
mazato cJii non porta moccolo" were at their noisiest, 
we non-revellers, unable to endure longer the deaf- 
ening din, left the Corso, and by the way of the 
piazza SS. Apostoli, sought the quieter region of 
the Forum Trajano. It was a sudden transition 
from gay to grave, to lean over the balustrade 
which surrounds the main excavation, and look 
down at the ghostly array in the depths below — 
the broken columns that guard the approach to the 
tomb. But in it we found full compensation: the 
air filled with the odor of spring prophecies, the 
pleasant movement of a gentle breeze, and the weird 
night solitude accentuated for us the fascinations of 
antique marbles. The scattered remains of ancient 
temples, the fallen porticos, the monument reared 
for him who was once so mighty, of whom Gibbon 
says, " He only made war to secure peace," had for 
us seemingly a new interest, and sent the fancy 



ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN'S FORUM. 227 

backward in its flight, building out of the wide 
past a world of thought and feeling. They won 
us to an increased desire to study carefully their 
graven pages, for in such-like strong, broad-typed 
records, history becomes an appreciable reality. 

Much of the work of unearthing the Forum of 
Trajan, as well as that of other portions of long- 
buried Rome, was done by the French, when they 
were here trying to prop up the fast declining tem- 
poral power of the Pope; for which, despite the 
temporary stumbling-block they were to Italian lib- 
erty, we give them thanks. Research has brought 
to light no monument more beautiful than Trajan's 
Column, the work of the architect Apollodorus, and, 
according to an inscription upon the base, erected by 
the Roman Senate and people a. d. 114. It is one 
hundred and thirty feet in height, and is composed 
of thirty -four blocks of Carrara marble, carefully 
matched without and within. Few monuments ex- 
hibit to us more clearly the knowledge and skill 
attained by the Romans of the empire in mechanics 
and arts. It is of perfect proportions, and rises with 
imperial grace from among the serried rows of frag- 
ments that strew the site. A spiral band of bas- 
relievos runs from base to summit, the figures in- 
creasing in size as they near the top, to preserve 
throughout the same proportions to the eye of the 



228 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

spectator when seen from below. These series of 
sculptures, chronologically arranged, tell the story 
of the emperor's victories, and how he came to leave 
the Roman empire greater and more prosperous than 
he found it. They are said to represent not less 
than twenty-five hundred human figures, actors in 
the imperial drama, many whose names and deeds 
are forgotten; while pf others it is only known that 
they lived, resisted, and succumbed to the power 
of the victor. The representations begin with the 
crossing of the Danube, and carry on the succes- 
sive events of the Dacian wars; in one it is the 
construction of a fortress, in another an attack on 
the enemy; now it is the reception of ambassadors, 
and now the emperor addressing his troops. As 
studies of costumes and other military antiquities, 
these sculptures are among the most valuable of 
monumental records. Fortunately for the student 
there are accurate casts and engravings, from which 
he can gain a knowledge of them without the pro- 
digious labor of a detailed inspection of the work. 
It is noteworthy that this column, wreathed with its 
splendid garland of imperial triumphs, is preserved 
complete — as is also the massive mausoleum which 
serves for its pedestal — save that the statue of Tra- 
jan, which formerly crowned its summit, has given 
place to that of St. Peter. Will not the King who 



ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN's FORUM. 229 

has old Korae for his capital, acknowledge the in- 
congruity of the thing, and following the injunction 
"Kender unto Csesar the things that are Caesar's," 
restore to antiquity its own — give back to the Pagan 
column the statue of the Pagan emperor ? 

As Ave looked up at the great, patient stars, and 
listened to the far-off murmur of the ebbing festivi- 
ties of the Corso, we talked of .the Quirinal and the 
Vatican, and the mighty breach which the present 
has made with the past. Although the images of 
the latter have become colossal in story, and re- 
splendent, seen through the glorifying effects of his- 
toric distances, the beacon of the present shines with 
a clear and wondrous light; its promises fill the soul 
with joy. Progress, so called, is truly the watch- 
word of the nineteenth century. Italy was tardy in 
falling into the general movement; nevertheless she 
has made great strides in certain directions. Modern 
improvements may have weakened the stronger tints 
of local color, and impaired some forms of pictur- 
esqueness; but in their stead are beauties nobler 
in quality and tone. Those who come to Eome 
with imaginations long fed upon dreams, with 
thoughts intent upon magnificent ceremonials, and 
hopes of assisting at high festivals of churchly 
pomp and state, will find things woefully unjointed. 
A change of colors floats from St. Angelo; the sol- 



230 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

emn spectacle of the Pope, with two fingers ex- 
tended in blessing, is no longer an incident of the 
streets. 

Meanwhile one perceives that the City of the Cassars 
has become more habitable, its air is fresher, its peo- 
ple seem to breathe more freely, and certainly have 
more cheerful faces. On the newspaper stands are 
journals that keep better step with the measures of 
the age than II Osservatore Romano, and whose voices 
are newer, more harmonious, and more sympathetic, 
than the old, so-called Voce clella Veritas. This won- 
derful city, the storehouse of the accumulated treas- 
ures of the kingdoms she conquered, and the regal 
seat of that power in whose hands the Cross grew to 
be the mightiest of defences, is for us the chronicler 
of both Pagan and Christian history. In the monu- 
ments of the former, beauty yields to grandeur — to 
that something mighty, both in sentiment and struc- 
ture, which, despite all vandalisms, will remain sub- 
stantial joy forever. If we rehabilitate temples, the 
smoke of sacrifice rises from magnificent altars, and 
we know that the mythical gods were real gods to 
the Pagan devotee. In the monuments recording- 
Christian (Papal) history, we find greater luxury, ex- 
aggeration, and ostentation, which in the light of in- 
creasing refinement and truer spiritual interpretation, 
either kill faith, or convert it into blind superstition. 



ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAn's FORUM. 231 

Rome patiently bides the day when the " Ckristus 
viiicit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat" inscribed on 
the walls of the Vatican, shall be conpled with 
" Christus amat, Christus docet, Christus exaltat." We 
hear already the approaching footsteps; there is now 
a St. Paul's within the walls. 

Inquiry, the so-called evangelist of science, has re- 
cently made interesting discoveries on the Aventine. 
This is the highest and most picturesque of the Seven 
Hills, and if it means " The Hill of Birds," is legend- 
arily connected with the foundation of the city. The 
newly-revealed fragments are supposed to be remains 
of the Temple of Diana Aventina, whither Caius Grac- 
chus fled, and prayed that those who had betrayed 
him might never be free. The portions of walls are 
remains of a date much older than the two well-pre- 
served specimens of the wall of Servius Tullius. 

One looks in vain for the laurels, bay-trees, and 
thick groves, of which the Latin poets make frequent 
mention ; and only on the side facing the Tiber are 
there any "rocky cliffs." The huge Saxum of the 
greater summit (there are two summits) has long 
since disappeared, and among the cliffs of the lesser, 
one finds no trace of a cave that might be associated 
with the legend of the giant Cacus. It must have 
been a Herculean task to drag the stolen bulls up by 
their tails, if the cliffs were as steep as they are now, 



232 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Three churches, the heritage of the Order of 
Dominicans, crown the Aventine. They occupy 
sites in the midst of a wealth of overgrown ver- 
dure, but seemingly they have outlived their uses 
in a district so infested with malaria as to be al- 
most depopulated. St. Sabina stands upon the site 
of the Temple of Juno Regina, which is also the 
more modern site of the house of the saint. The 
nave of the church is of noble proportions, and 
grand in structure, but it is filled with a dusky 
solitude and an odor of mould, as if already feed- 
ing on its own ancientness. From a corridor we 
saw the famous orange-tree, six hundred and sixty 
years old, said to have been planted by St. Dominic, 
and its prosperity to tally with that of the Order. 
In the Chapel of the Rosary a rare feast for the 
lover of warm color and the picturesque, met the 
eye. A dim light, warmed and toned by a crimson 
curtain, fell upon the treasure of the church, the 
masterpiece of Sassoferrato, La Madonna del Rosario. 
Tapers were burning upon the altar, and before it 
knelt a young peasant girl, with flowers in her 
hand, as sweet in significance as the lily at the 
feet of the saint. The face of the young girl had a 
touch of sadness, a something of the hopelessness 
of renunciation. Was she, out of the substance of 
her own innocence, preparing some sacrifice ? With 



ROMAN CARNIVAL, AND TRAJAN'S FORUM. 233 

her rosary, had she too received a crown of thorns ? 
In the near Convent domain Thomas Aquinas 
passed much of his life. We wondered if he would 
have looked in any wise like our cicerone, a Do- 
minican father — if he would have made just such 
a solemn, white-hooded figure against the dark gray 
background of the church. In the gardens of the 
Convent, and the adjoining declivity of the Aventine, 
important excavations were made in 1856 and 1857. 
They brought to light some subterranean prisons, an 
ancient Koman house, and fragments of walls formed 
of gigantic blocks of peperino. 

The second of the trio of churches, St. Alessio, 
contains some fine monumental tombs; but it is in- 
teresting chiefly from the fact that the crypt is a 
subterranean church of very early date. Here the 
Popes held their conclaves in times of persecution. 
The story of the youthful saint is well told in the 
design and appointments of his shrine near the en- 
trance of the church. The stairs are said to be the 
veritable stairs under which his body was found. 

In the neighborhood of the third church, St. Maria, 
is the beautiful garden of the Priorata. It has an 
avenue of bay -trees, through which the vista reaches 
to St. Peter's. The view from the terrace of the gar- 
den commands a sea of domes, the sinuous, golclen- 
hued waters of the Tiber, and the broad, verdure- 



234 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

waving slopes of the Janiculum. In one of the little 
courts stands a graceful, tremulous-fingered palm- 
tree. We were reminded by the equally tremulous- 
fingered father, that the angels in heaven carry palm- 
branches in their hands. In this garden Hildebrand 
(afterward Gregory VII.) wandered, wondered, and 
grew up to manhood. Not far distant, under the 
shadow of the classic Armilustrum, Tacitus was 
buried, but tomb and laurel-grove have long since 
disappeared. 



XXI. 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULAS WITHOUT 
THE WALLS. 



In these days, when lectures on archaeology draw 
large audiences, and fashion prefers the works of Di 
Cesnola and Dr. Schliemann to the latest romance, 
Kome, the common storehouse of the intellectual 
energy of ages, becomes for us an intellectual centre. 
Few cities offer finer opportunities for serious work, 
whether one is seeking inspiration from the spirit 
of beauty in the broad realm of art, or the noble 
repose necessary for philosophic labors; while from 
its prostrate columns and overthrown temples, the 
historian may find out nations and model heroes, 
and scholars learn to interpret Plato, Homer, and 
Aristotle. 

In the outlying districts, what peaceful solitudes, 
what tenderness of sky, what marvellous harmonies 
of color ! Besides, what beauty of atmospheric ef- 
fects, how lustrous the air, and what a clustering 



236 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

wealth of purple and gold chasing the shifting shad- 
ows of striding aqueducts and massive arches ! The 
purely picturesque offers few richer episodes than a 
Roman wall, with its square towers and broad angu- 
lar shadows, its sun and storm toned surface, brilliant 
with a tangled network of ivy and violets; and few 
sweeter or tenderer than the long grassy stretches 
of the Campagna, with their sunny stillness, their 
easy-changing undulations, and their veiled distances, 
in which the imagination finds its choicest oppor- 
tunities. 

To the dreamy contemplative, there are no more 
winsome sounds than the gentle-voiced winds of the 
Campagna, freighted with sad, stately refrains; they 
seem to come from the homes of the solitary, the 
always desolate, or some remote distance of time 
and memory over which melancholy broods. Melan- 
choly is a prominent tone in the scale of sounds 
throughout all Southern Italy. If to the universal 
symphony of the winds is added an intenser note, 
the voice of a nightingale, it is only a gain to the 
general disembodied pathos, the unseen pouring it- 
self out in song; for although the voice seems "hun- 
dred-throated," and fills the air with its ringing mel- 
odies, one seldom sees the bird himself. 

Would the traveller test the fruitful suggestive- 
ness of the near neighborhoods of Eome, let him, 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 237 

some fine morning in early spring, drive out of 
the Porta San Sebastiano. The road thence — the 
old Via Appia — has its origin within the modern 
gate, near the now well-authenticated site of the 
Porta Capena, where Cicero was received on his re- 
turn from banishment, and where the survivor of 
the Horatii met and slew his sister. No trace 
remains of the group of temples, mentioned by 
the Latin poets as standing near the Porta Capena. 

Nature is nowhere so generous as in Italy. From 
the semi-circular towers of the modern gate of San 
Sebastiano, hang masses of verdure; and just with- 
out, in the once place of the first Roman milestone, 
dense patches of cyclamen and forget-me-nots, half 
hidden in shade, exhale a mixed mist of purple and 
blue. The lights and shadows on the Alban Hills, 
so exquisite in tone and rapidly changing, so deli- 
ciously fantastic when they chance to touch some 
white village or gray tower, excite enthusiasm even 
in the most phlegmatic; while in their soft, free-flow- 
ing lines, one may see what is meant by the Ital- 
ian-classic in landscape. And if the eye follow the 
curves down to the sunny level of the fields, it will 
have the mellowest of the mellow backgrounds of 
Claude. If one happen to meet a contadino in long 
cloak and peaked hat, with a counterpart whose eyes 
are brilliant, cheeks glowing, and smile intense, and 



238 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

listens, for a moment to his liquid, open-vo welled ut- 
terances, it will not detract from the supreme effect. 
Despite the increasing beauty of the road as it re- 
cedes from the city walls, one cannot put to flight 
the host of associations that crowds upon him while 
traversing the route of this great historic Via. Near 
the gate, in the space on the left, is the supposed 
site of the Temple of Mars, where the armies en- 
tering Rome in triumph used to halt, — the last being 
that of Marc Antonio Colonna, after the battle of 
Lepanto. What an impressive serenity overhangs 
each melancholy detail of broken fragment or name- 
less monument ! As the eye wanders over the far- 
strewn wilderness of classic interests, the strongest 
impression is the irrevocable im permanence of all 
ambitions and empires. The gloomy influence of 
the thought is not lessened by the knowledge that 
the splendor of polished marble, artfully-wrought 
friezes, and superb bas-reliefs, has been transferred 
to modern churches and palaces — the intended-to- 
be-lasting memorials of the illustrious dead stolen 
to gratify the momentary greed of the living ! On 
every hand the odor of spring blossoms overcomes 
that of mouldering tombs, the bright hues of the 
former lending a welcome cheerfulness to the heavy 
Latinity of the latter. Here we see a dwelling 
reared from the dilapidations of sepulchres; there a 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT THE WALLS. 23S 

group of trees, with broad-spreading branches, crowns 
a burial mound, and a little further a tower stands 
on a tomb-hillock, the slopes of which are covered 
with the lustrous green of laurels, intermixed with 
broken urns. 

To the sensuous ear the air of the Appian Way 
seems charged with a strange, indistinct murmur, 
a recognized suggestiveness that, breaking the long 
night of the slumberers, recalls them to legendary 
activities; even the rising breeze tunes itself to the 
plaintive voice of the past. We hear a mournful 
sound, a funeral dirge; we see a dead body upon 
a bier strewn with flowers — it is clad in festal 
robes, and about it are the gifts of those who loved 
the departed. The funeral pile is wreathed with ivy, 
the bier is placed upon it; there is an odor of spices 
and sweet-smelling ointments, and the torch is ap- 
plied. Again there is weeping and lamentation and 
voices singing. Meanwhile the heaped-up pile, turn 
ing to ashes, sinks to the level of the bystanders 
golden wine extinguishes the embers. All that re- 
mains is gathered and reverently deposited in an 
urn, and those who mourn the dead, depart saying, 
" Salve ! Ave ! Vale ! " Quite unlike is the modern 
manner of Le Moyne, who, with his close brick fur- 
nace, seems to have eliminated all sentiment from 
cremation. 



240 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

The most interesting of the Catacombs of the Via 
Appia is the one known as St. Calixtus. Burying 
the dead instead of burning them was a distinguish- 
ing feature of primitive Christianity, its disciples 
keeping in remembrance that their "Lord was laid 
in a tomb hewn out of a rock." During the reign 
of Trajan and the Antonines these sepulchre caverns 
were the rally ing-point of those whose lives were 
a "spectacle to men and angels," and who, being 
dead, yet live in the far-spread triumph of that faith 
which teaches one to love his enemies, to bless and 
curse not, to even kiss the hand that smites. The 
walls of St. Calixtus are lined with tombs of saints 
and martyrs, few of them more notable in life or 
death than St. Cecilia. The cubiculum in which her 
body was found — six hundred years after burial, fresh 
and perfect as when laid there — has an altar; also 
other features belonging to a chapel. Formerly a 
light was kept burning before the shrine, and mass 
was celebrated there on certain anniversaries. A 
more solemn service can hardly be conceived than 
a mass at midnight in the Catacombs; but such 
celebrations are no longer permitted. 

The paintings of the Catacombs have small merit 
as works of art, whatever they may be as illustra- 
tions of faith and doctrine. The favorite subject 
was evidently that of the Good Shepherd, and 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 241 

probably was so because it embraces the whole 
spirit of the Christian religion. Its origin is un- 
doubtedly Greek, if it is not simply an adaptation 
of the Greek statue "Mercury carrying a goat"; 
indeed, in several paintings the "Good Shepherd" 
is represented as carrying a goat. 

The prospect, as one descends into the valley 
toward San Sebastiano, is charming. Showers of 
golden sparkles play in the air, revealing delectable 
tints, and deepening the individual color of each 
picturesque effect, splendid hints to the questioning 
fancy of an artist. But the mellow brilliancy is 
tainted with mortality; there are tombs on either 
hand, and beneath the basilica are " coemeterium 
ad catacumbas." These were open and frequented 
by pilgrims as late as the fifteenth century. The 
wealth of the church consists in some ancient gran- 
ite columns, the so-called original footprints of the 
Saviour from Domino Quo Vadis, and a fine statue 
of the saint, which represents him as a youth clad 
in armor; it was designed by Bernini. 

It would seem as if tourists had written away 
and artists sketched away all interest in the fort- 
ress-like monument of Csecilia Metella, so constantly 
do we see it represented in books, albums, and port- 
folios. But its grand proportions, mantled with the 
light elegance of spring flowers, its marble frieze 



24:2 A NEW TREAD JN AN OLD TRACK. 

decorated with fine bas-reliefs, and the exquisite 
correspondence of its magnificence with the senti- 
ment that reared it, have a charm that is indescrib- 
able and nnsketchable. Near the fourth milestone 
Seneca was put to death by Nero's order: whether 
the ruin near by, with the bas-relief representing 
the murder of Atys by Adrastus, formed a part of 
his tomb, is still a question for the antiquary. The 
ruin Casole Rotondo, a mausoleum transformed into 
a fortress by the Orsini, is supposed to be the tomb 
of Messala Corvinus, the poet, and a friend of Horace. 
The view beyond the tombs has the Sabine Hills 
and the distant, lonely Soracte for a background, 
while for its nearer charms are the silver meshes 
of wandering streamlets and the sinuous lines of 
arches framed in rank muffles of verdure. In the 
atmosphere there is a peculiarly beautiful violet tone, 
and a something almost sentient seems to throb in 
the pulsations of light, an echo from the mighty 
past, the tread of the notable processionals that 
once passed along the road; now it is the funeral 
cortege of Augustus carrying him back to his im- 
perial palace on the Palatine, and now it is the 
procession bearing back to Rome the body of Sylla, 
" in a gilt litter, with royal ornaments, trumpets be- 
fore him, and horsemen behind." Amid all waver- 
ing traditions the story of " Paul's Journey," as re- 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 243 

lated in the Acts of the Apostles, stands unquestioned 
and unmutilated. The thoughtful believer naturally 
turns to it as the greatest of all triumphal proces- 
sions that have passed over the Via Appia, some- 
times called the Sacra Via. He sees Paul, the 
teacher, apostle, and prophet, "following his Lord 
without the gate," attended by soldiers and the 
motley crowd that made up the stirring life of the 
Imperial world. 

Returning cityward, a short drive brings one to 
the Church of the Three Fountains, which is as 
curious as the legend connected with it. Having no 
desire to examine the relics, little fancy for the 
very melancholy site, and small interest in special 
localities merely as such, we hurried on to the grand 
basilica which was reared to commemorate the Apos- 
tle's martyrdom, San Paolo Fuori Le Mura. The an- 
cient structure which had been used uninterruptedly 
for Christian worship nearly fifteen centuries, was 
destroyed by fire in 1823. Gregory Sixteenth at 
once commenced its restoration, and Pius Ninth 
completed the interior in 1854. Entering the church 
by the transept and looking down the nave, we 
had some conception of the blindness that fell upon 
those who witnessed the Transfiguration. The con- 
centrated splendor has an overpowering dazzling- 
ness. Instinctively the hand is raised to shut out 



244 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the flashing lights of polished marble, alabaster and 
malachite, porphyry and lapis-lazuli. When our eyes 
could bear the strong crystal-prismatic-like blaze, we 
looked in vain for spot or blemish in the wondrous 
magnificence of rich altars, beautiful chapels and fres- 
cos, well wrought statues, floor of marble superbly 
jointed and polished, and walls sheathed in richly 
variegated marbles. Eighty massive columns with 
capitals elegantly carved, separate the nave from 
the aisles, two, more colossal than the others, sup- 
porting an arch over the main altar. The arch is 
a relic from the old basilica, and has some interest- 
ing mosaics and inscriptions, one of the latter com- 
memorating the great Leo who defended Koine 
against Attila. Eoman Catholics believe that the 
body of the Apostle lies beneath the "Confession" 
in front of the high altar. An inscription tells us 
that the ancient altar canopy is enclosed in the 
modern baldacchino, which rests upon four pillars 
of Oriental alabaster, the gift of the pasha of 
Egypt, 

In the transept the bewildered eye gets a little 
respite from polychromatic splendors. The mala- 
chite altars, as simple in construction as they are 
beautiful in material, were presented b}^ the Em- 
peror Nicholas of Russia. We were glad to sit 
awhile in the soft-toned tranquillity of one of the 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAULS WITHOUT THE WALLS. 245 

chapels opening from the transept, where, in the 
richly clustering incidents of the walls, altar, and 
confessional, Ave could trace the divers states of 
Catholicism, from early Pagan bas-reliefs, through 
the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, to its modern 
statues by Tenerani and Rinaldi. In the chapel 
of St. Bridget is- preserved the famous crucifix of 
Pietro Cavallini, which the saint during her ecsta- 
tic devotion seemed to hear speak to her. 

Before the Reformation the basilica and adjoin- 
ing convent were under the protection of the kings 
of England. The ribbon and motto of the Order 
of the Garter are still seen on the shield of the 
arms of the monastery. The exterior of the church 
is far from noteworthy, unless its extreme ugliness 
makes it notable. The porticos and arcades of 
the cloisters have some fine cippolino columns, and 
the campanile attracts attention because it is said 
to resemble an ancient pharos. All the surround- 
ings of the structure are in a decidedly minor key. 
It stands alone on the Campagna, near the banks 
of the Tiber, desolation having succeeded the beau- 
ty of flourishing gardens and suburban villas amid 
which it once stood. The district is so infested 
with a malarial pestilence that it is deserted for the 
greater part of the year. In its solitary grandeur, 
St. Paul's seems a fit emblem of the formalism, use- 



246 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

less luxury, and exaggeration of Romanism as it 
exists to-day. 

Near the gate of St. Paul's, close by the old Aure- 
lian wall, and under the black, sepulchral shadows 
of the huge Pyramid of Caius Cestus, is the little 
Protestant burial-ground, where the old and the new 
in funeral things make a solemn and impressive con- 
trast. Few strangers from Protestant countries fail 
to visit this lovely spot — so lovely with its thick 
growing cypresses, its trellises of blooming roses, 
and immense beds of violets, and over all the clear, 
tender Roman light ! If one is not seeking the grave 
of friend or kin, he still feels a strangely attracting 
interest and sympathy; usually the records on the 
monuments tell him that those whom they commem- 
orate died young, that they were travellers like him- 
self, or at most only temporary sojourners in Rome. 
English-speaking visitors find the grave of Keats, 
with its solitary rose-tree, and read the words written 
by himself, " Here lies one whose name was writ 
in water " ; also that which contains the heart of 
Shelley — (the body was burned at Lerici). On the 
recumbent slab, after the name, dates of birth and 
death, is written: 

"Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea change 
Into something rich and strange." 



APPIAN WAY AND ST. PAUL'S WITHOUT THE WALLS. 247 

When we saw the grave of the poet, it was bordered 
with violets, of which the obliging custodian gave us 
freely, taking us to be English. Papal Rome proba- 
bly did not see "the fitness of things" when she set 
apart this spot as the burial-place of Protestants. 
There seems to be a kind of poetic, if not personal, 
justice in its location; for those who rest, waiting 
for the resurrection, so near the soil drenched with 
the blood of Paul, the apostle and martyr, can hardly 
be said to be buried in unconsecrated ground. 



XXII. 

BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES, VIA SALARIA 
AND THE VATICAN. 

Nowhere does spring make more rapid advances, 
or take captive finer picturesque effects of sights 
and sounds and possible memories, than in the 
grounds of the Villa Borghese. The Borghese is al- 
ways open to the public, and therefore has not that 
air of idleness, interfused with irresponsibility, which 
is so usually the dominant expression of old Roman 
villas; while it is one of the choicest, regarded as a 
standpoint for observation, and quite irresistible if 
one would indulge in that poetic affair called day- 
dreaming. 

When the avenues are crowded, innumerable places 
of silence, but hardly solitude, may be found in the 
almost twilight duskiness of cypress-walks, or be- 
neath ancient ilex-trees, which, while throwing 
abroad huge branches and ponderous shade, have 
kept no visible record of their oft-imperilled state. 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 249 

Storms and assaults have been forgotten in a sturdy 
growth of centuries — in an ever-increasing leafy 
grace, a picturesque arranging of wide-sheltering 
boughs, and the melodies of their wind-played strings, 
as the songs, symphonies, and choruses of the seasons 
have followed one upon another with their changeful 
themes. The gently undulating lawns are smooth 
and bright; and intermixed with open spaces, odor- 
ous with the sweet efflorescence of daisies, violets, 
and anemones, are tall-stemmed stone pines, which 
lift their green, dome-like crests far skyward; and, in 
the interstices of wooded stretches, fountain streams 
fall into marble basins, or make beady cascades over 
rock-piled beds. 

There is no shabbiness anywhere to appeal to over- 
sensitive perceptions ; only a little artificial dishevel- 
ment here and there in the arrangement of shattered 
columns, broken temple-fronts (the crevices filled 
with weedy flowering), and terminal porticos and 
colossal statues, seen through vistas of shaded paths, 
or supported against the gnarled and twisted trunks 
of grand old oaks. The heroic forms of these "forest 
monarchs" harmonize well with antiquity, and are 
a delightful refreshment when one is weary with the 
limitations of stone and marble. Not less refreshing 
are the occasional poplars, while they appeal directly 
to the imagination. There is something strange in 



250 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

their vacillating motion, as if fearful that in their fre- 
quent whisperings important secrets might escape 
them. A thousand pendant catkins look like ruddy- 
liued blossoms, and contrast admirably with their sil- 
ver-gray leafage, which is in a constant tremor, de- 
spite the warmth of the radiant air, the soft canopy 
of tender sky-tones, and a great sheeted glitter of 
gold coming in from the west. 

From the Borghese to the Albani the transition is 
natural; for each is characteristic and complete, re- 
garded as a representative Eoman villa. Spring- 
time's advance is visible at the Albani also, in the re- 
freshed green of sycamore avenues, a seeming new 
beauty in the superb cypress-lined palisade, and an 
almost trellis-like grace in the fine aloes stretching 
their fantastic network of trunks and branches 
against white walls. The box-hedges are a little for- 
mal, as if nature as well as art sometimes dealt in 
mannerisms; and the flower-beds and grass-plots 
which they enclose are laid out with geometrical pre- 
cision — even the color of the former is regularly, if 
not geometrically, variegated. 

Cardinal Alexander Albani designed and built the 
villa in 1760, and it may be taken as a fair expression 
of the mind, manners, and character of the Italian 
seignior of that period. The seignior was rich, had 
taste, and usually learning. He prized artistic order 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 251 

in all things, but particularly in garden and land- 
scape disposings. He demanded lofty and spa- 
cious apartments, whose solidity of construction 
and magnificence of decoration should keep in 
remembrance imperial Kome; also broad prome- 
nades, open to fresh breezes, and affording ample 
space for trains of courtiers and attendants. To 
these requirements the Albani responds; its halls, 
porticos, and saloons are princely, grand in propor- 
tions, and harmonious and classical in arrangement, 
while they are decorated with splendid marble mosa- 
ics, wainscoting, bas-reliefs, columns, and statues. 
The Cardinal was an antiquary, and here, under his 
patronage, Winckelmann became an antiquary, and 
thought out his history of art. 

Nowhere have I seen ancient sculptures so happily 
arranged; there is no crowding, but each piece oc- 
cupies a place suited to its size and character, with 
the light so arranged that illumination and shadow 
may have the most effective contrasts. Among the 
treasures of the villa is the relief representing the 
marriage of Peleus and Thetis; also the parting of 
Orpheus and Eurydice, which latter certainly proves 
the ability of sculpture to both represent and excite 
emotion. The famous Antinous crowned with a 
lotus flower, is supremely beautiful, as well as im- 
pressive; it is evidently the outcome of the deepest 



252 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

inspiration. It shows at a glance how far the man- 
ner of the ancient Greek surpasses any other in the 
representation of pure ideal beauty. Another con- 
spicuous art treasure is the "Apollo Sauroctonus," 
said to be an original statue by Praxiteles, and the 
most admirable bronze statue in the world. 

The windows of the upper galleries afford one of 
the loveliest pictures that even Roman sky, plains, 
and mountain-lines can paint. One sees the delicate 
Sabine range in an intense broken purple; Monte 
Genaro and Montecelli, spotted with white towns, in 
a nearer scintillating azure; and a panoramic series 
of green meadows, across which play the ever-vary- 
ing shadows of fleecy clouds, let down from an 
above-all of palpable blue. The graceful swell and 
subsidence of the plain is interrupted midway to the 
mountains by the churches St. Agnese and St. Con- 
stanza, whose roofs and walls, relieved only by the 
friendly duskiness of cypress-trees in near neighbor- 
hood, are clearly defined in the limpid, luminous 
atmosphere ; while the waters of the Anio flash and 
sparkle as they approach the ruins of the bridge that 
once spanned them, and hurry on to lose themselves 
in the vapor-like dimness of remote distance. 

The drive along the Via Salaria is one of rare en- 
tertainment, provided the mood is for something 
more than brilliant air, sunny stillness, and beautiful 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 253 

atmospheric effects. Traditional interests, with strik- 
ing suggestions of ghostly presences, crowd the way, 
in spite of clumps of bloom tumbling over walls, or 
the wild roses and honeysuckles against which your 
carriage-wheels brush as you pass. The entire dis- 
trict lying between the road and the mountains, is 
undermined by catacombs, the most interesting be- 
ing that of St. Priscilla. It is one of the oldest, and 
is constructed like an ancient arena. The central 
portion is supported by pillars and walls of masonry. 
St. Priscilla, after whom the Catacomb is named, is 
supposed to have been a contemporary of the Apos- 
tles; and it is claimed that one of the paintings on 
the roof of a locdus, belongs almost to that age. It 
represents the Virgin seated, with the infant Saviour 
in her arms; from her head, and partially covering 
it, depends a light drapery. Opposite is a single 
male figure, clothed in the pallium, holding a book 
in one hand, while with the other he points to a star 
appearing nearly over the Child. This figure, thus 
connected with the star, has made the painting no- 
table, because of much questioning as to whom it is 
intended to represent. Is it St. Joseph, or one of the 
Magi? or is it Esaias? It seems a strange juxtapo- 
sition of eras so distant — that of the prophet telling 
of the coming of the Messiah, and that of His actual 
coming. Bat art in its rude states took large license. 



254 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

The book, the pallium, and the fact that the prophet 
so often made use of imagery borrowed from light, 
favor the belief that it is Esaias, who comes thus to 
confront the fulfilment of his own prophecies. 

Returning to the city walls, one reaches, by a road 
leading from the Porta Pia, the churches before men- 
tioned. St. Agnese is entered by a flight of stairs 
(lined with inscriptions from the Catacombs), which 
descends forty-five steps to reach the floor-pavement, 
showing what surface accumulations have accom- 
plished in the process of making it a future subter- 
ranean church. The interior is divided into nave and 
aisles by antique columns, which support arches. 
Above the aisles are galleries with smaller columns 
upholding a triform roof; this roof is on a level with 
the road outside. The tabernacle, supported by four 
porphyry columns, contains an antique alabaster stat- 
ue of the saint; and in one of the chapels is a won- 
derfully beautiful inlaid altar. 

A short distance beyond St. Agnese, the road skirts 
the willow-shaded banks of the Anio, to whose friendly 
waters, legend says, Silvia trusted the cradle of Romu- 
lus and Remus, which the Tiber, having received, 
landed with its wonderful babies at the foot of the 
Palatine. 

Continuing beyond Ponte Nomentana, past the 
Mons Sacer of the plebeians, and the disinterred 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 255 

Church of St. Alessandro, within whose roofless en- 
closure Mass is celebrated on the saint's day, we 
came to a road turning to the left, which leads to 
the little village of Mentana. We had traversed this 
same route before — on a certain November day in 
1867 — when we noted not the blue of the Sabine hills, 
nor the white glittering chapels on the Alban slopes, 
nor the wide Campagna with its thousand fascina- 
tions. We thought only of the hillside beyond the 
olive wood, so lately the field of blood, and the brave 
men, mostly youths, who fell there. Keturning home- 
ward, we talked of those days — of that fearful night 
when, expecting each moment to be stopped by Gari- 
baldi's advance-guard, we entered the panic-stricken 
city close npon the heels of the routed troops from 
Viterbo; of those gloomy days shut up in the Hotel 
Minerva, and the intolerable espionage to which we 
harmless tourists were subjected; how we knew not 
whether to laugh or cry when we heard the great 
guns of Civita Vecchia, which announced to the 
Papal Court that the French had arrived. Then came 
the battle of Mentana, the forced retreat of Garibaldi, 
the days of bringing in the wounded, dead, and dy- 
ing, and the solemn Requiem Masses in San Carlo. 
To-day the scene is very different: all is bright; 
the sun shines with an unwonted glorifying radiance. 
People hurry hither and thither with smiling faces; 



256 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

models in their picturesque costumes doze on the 
Spanish steps; young, well-clad girls offer us the 
loveliest and sweetest flowers; and there, in an open 
landau, goes the Queen on her way to the Pincio, 
to hear the music, and show the young Prince to 
the Roman world. Thither we are going — to the 
parapet of the great terrace, — and looking over the 
city towards St. Peter's and the sunset, will take a 
mental memorandum of the magnificent scene, the 
while listening to the band. 

If the locale of Rome is full of suggestions for 
thought, her fine museums and superb palaces are 
not less fruitful excitants. All centuries have con- 
tributed to the various collections, and their works 
definitely mark the prominent £ras of genius, ambi- 
tion, and wealth. During the temporal reign of 
Papal power, none but aesthetic enthusiasms were 
permitted to the Italians. Thus all intellectual vi- 
tality had an aesthetic impulse, and manifested itself 
accordingly, — the earlier reigns being occupied more 
particularly in producing, and the latter in collect- 
ing. One finds perhaps in the galleries of the Vati- 
can the richest treasures of antique sarcophagi, un- 
known -tongued inscriptions, marvellous tapestries, 
arrays of sculpture, wonderful mural masterpieces, 
and on canvas the world's supreme glories of color 
and wonders of composition. 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 257 

Passing through a noble colonnade, with broad, 
lofty arches, and a perspective made for kings to 
delight in, one ascends the Scala Eegia to the mag- 
nificent Sala Eegia. If it is the first time, the visitor 
is like a voyager on a boundless, unknown sea; he 
is bewildered by the immensity and the exceeding 
richness of the art world that lies before him. Reach- 
ing the entrance of the Museum of Statues, and look- 
ing clown the seemingly never-ending vista, he will, 
however, soon descry many familiar forms in the 
vast, silent multitude. 

The advance statue is Silenus, holding in his arms 
the infant Bacchus, whom he caressingly regards. 
It is a copy from the Greek. Portions of the child, 
and the vine-leaves with which Silenus is adorned, 
are restorations. Near by is an exquisitely graceful 
Ganymede filling his cup for the gods; also a Diana, 
whose gentle, sympathetic face, finely-chiselled form, 
and stooping attitude, suggest the sleeping Endymi- 
on lacking to complete the group. Here is an heroic 
Augustus, with a cuirass covered with bas-reliefs 
which tell the story of his achievements. As works 
of art, the reliefs are marvellously beautiful, wonderful 
in strength and boldness of execution, and in delicacy 
of finish. Euripides, with a grave countenance, and 
grand mien, holding a poetic scroll, confronts a de- 
claiming Demosthenes, whose indignation against 



258 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the Athenians because of their fickleness, is seen in 
every line of the face, action of muscle, and fold of 
drapery. 

One of the most beautiful statues of the Vatican 
galleries, is that of an athlete, found in the Trastevere 
in 1849. A wonderful elasticity is visible in the 
limbs, the form is slender, the face youthful, the hair 
thrown backward, and nothing can exceed the grace 
of attitude ; he is in the act of using the strigil upon 
the left arm. This is the statue that was made fa- 
mous, according to Pliny, by the loud outspoken 
admiration of the populace during the reign of Tibe- 
rius. The Emperor having taken it to adorn his 
palace, the complaints of the people were so great 
that he was compelled to restore it to the public 
baths, where it was first set up by Agrippa, who 
brought it from Greece. 

Another statue somewhat famous, and upon which 
Goethe bestowed unusual enthusiasm, as recorded in 
his book of journeyings, is the Minerva Medica of 
the same gallery. It was found among the ruins 
of a so-called temple of the goddess on the Esquiline. 
It is of Parian marble, and one of the finest-draped 
figures that we have seen. The helmet-crowned head, 
the spear in the hand, and cuirass at the shoulder, 
give a warlike expression; but the whole figure, in 
pose and general action, has great serenity, dignity, 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 259 

and majesty, and seems to represent the incarnate 
personality of the true Hellenic idea of wisdom. 

Giving but hasty glances into the Museos Chiara- 
monti and Pio Clementino, we reach the first vesti- 
bule, in which is the Torso de Belvedere, brought 
from the baths of Caracalla. Though it is but a 
mutilated trunk, it reveals to us an inherent individ- 
uality of action, majesty, and grandeur. It has been 
fitly described as a " mass of breathing stone " ; and 
as we look at the flesh so wonderfully moulded, the 
curves and depressions, the muscles and the wrin- 
kles, all so true to life in the minutest detail, we 
feel that the artist has penetrated the secrets of 
nature, and that there is no want in art, approved 
by taste, reason, or feeling, that may not be appre- 
hended by sculpture. It is said Michael Angelo de- 
clared that to this statue lie owed his power of 
delineating the human figure; and that when the 
blindness of old age had come -upon him, he would 
desire to be led up to it, that he might, through 
touch, still enjoy its grandeur. In a niche near by 
is a sarcophagus, which every visitor stops to regard ; 
it once held the mortal remains of Cornelius Scipio 
Barbatus, the great-grandfather of that Scipio avIio 
" carried the war into Africa." It is one of the well- 
authenticated relics of the Kepublic, and is a " fa- 
miliar" in engravings and plaster reproductions. 



260 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

The Cortile del Belvedere of the Vatican was built 
by Bramante. It is a small octagonal court, sur- 
rounded by an open portico, and in it are some of 
the finest vases and sarcophagi yet disinterred by the 
ever-alive zeal of the antiquary. From the Belvedere 
court open four cabinets, each of which contains a 
world-renowned treasure. 

In the first, beginning at the right, are the Perseus 
and Two Boxers of Canova, so much praised by 
Stendhal. In the Perseus the mantle-folds fall grace- 
fully; but the figure, while it is exquisite, regarded 
as a piece of work, is decidedly effeminate — has more 
of loveliness than manly strength in its action, and a 
self-consciousness that would crush out any budding 
intellectual characteristics. The Boxers look to be 
simply coarse, realistic pugilists, clever in modelling, 
but excite neither sympathy nor interest. They are 
good examples of modern as distinguished from an- 
cient taste, notwithstanding the fact that Canova 
has been considered a good guide to the antique. 

The second cabinet contains a figure, which the 
more one looks, the more he admires — the Mercury 
of the Belvedere. We see in it plainly the artist's 
ideal of beauty of form and mind united, as if it 
were a revelation, an outward expression of a vital 
presence within the marble. The details are per- 
fect proportions; calm, thoughtful features, over 



BORGHESE AND ALBANI PALACES. 261 

which plays a light smile; and a refined intelli- 
gence of expression absolutely faultless — all evident- 
ly the outgrowth of positive aesthetic knowledge. 

The group of the Laocoon, in the third cabinet, is 
as world-wide known as it is world-wide wonderful. 
To see the very statue described by Pliny as stand- 
ing in the Palace of the Emperor Titus, is something; 
but it is not a pleasing group, even regarded as a 
symbolical representation of sin and its merited pun- 
ishment, and certainly much less regarded as a sym- 
bolical revelation of " sin " as the " throttler " of hu- 
mankind. The conception is simple, and would be 
lofty did a moral beauty seem signally to overpower 
the sense of physical suffering. As the artist has 
skilfully chosen the moment of instinctive prepara- 
tion for a final effort of nature to avert the doom 
impending, there is a seeming breath of suspension 
in the torture, an instant of repose, a thought of 
hope, ere the final rack — the catastrophe beyond the 
brink upon which we feel ourselves to be standing. 

In the fourth and last cabinet we find the " Lord 
of the Unerring Bow," the Apollo Belvedere. It is 
a noble conception, sublime in its simplicity, having 
a beauty of form and majesty of mien worthy the intel- 
lectual character of the magnificent head — in all, loyal 
to the strictest aesthetic law of the Greek — the truest 
conceivable representative of an Olympian divirity. 



XXIII. 

VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA, KAPHAEL AND SAN 

ONOFRIO. 

Eome takes entire possession of head and heart; 
but when the weighty pressure of her ponderous by- 
gones becomes too mighty for both, we escape to 
some out-of-the-way of wood or flowery slope. Suc- 
cessive days in galleries made us sigh for the fresh 
breezes, enchanted light, and mountain tints. There- 
fore we proceeded, one morning, to the little gate 
behind Bernini's columns, and leaving the city, 
strolled up the easy winding carriage-road of Monte 
Mario to the summit, and the Villa Mellini. For us, 
half the merit of the gentle ascent was its many- 
featured waysides, which were bright with local color, 
old-time intentions, and scenic changes of intense 
picturesqueness. An Italian group cannot help mak- 
ing a charming picture; one of Contadini seems to 
exhaust the possibilities of brilliancy in complexion, 
eyes, and garments, and of emphasis and vivacity in 



VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA. 263 

gesticulation, pose and expression. There were any 
number of striking realistic pictures lying about on 
the grass, or leaning against the open doorways of 
small osterie: through one opening came a yellow, 
vine-filtered light, which made a soft aureole about 
a youug face. 

The day was strangely delicious, so bright, with 
just a touch of the so-still, as we reached the villa 
gate. Near by stands the "lonely pine,' ; which, 
tower-like, marks the distant perspective in so many 
bettevues. A silver- white stem column seemed to carry 
the great green dome, with its ceaseless susurrus, 
quite ^up to the peaceful, stainless blue. To the 
imaginative mind there is a charm in this self-seek- 
ing isolation in the upper air, as if it would get 
away from the wanton shabbiness of the present — a 
vague hint of other times, of which it could tell 
pleasant tales ; when velvet and cloth of gold trailed 
over the lawns, and gay cavaliers and happy prin- 
cesses, well mounted, galloped across the flowery 
distances, or through the lovely cork-woods of Monte 
Mario. 

Within the grounds is one of the finest old ilex- 
walks that we have seen, a vaulted shade running 
along the brow of the hill: through openings in its 
dense dark green we caught glimpses of mountain 
groups and bright Campagna levels. The walls were 



2(l4 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

■ 

overhung with orange blossoms, which revealed the 
secrets of their golden centres only to equally mys- 
terious, sympathetic little neighbors: hyacinths, vio- 
lets, and anemones. Their close intimacy — an inter- 
mixture or exchange of perfumes — was a delicious 
vernal entertainment, for which we were grateful, if 
we might not penetrate the mysteries. The far-off 
note of a wood-bird responded to that of a near-lodged 
songster, at which the whole air suddenly became 
vocal, one performer out-singing the others, as if 
striving to pour its life out in a volume of melody. 

Monte Mario is the highest point of the range; 
therefore the villa commands one of the finest views 
of Borne, with its enclosing mountain lines and 
Campagna stretches of green and gold. Beyond the 
blue Albans, above a gray, vapory mist, the snowy 
peaks of the Apennines glitter in the sunshine, while 
the scattered villages of nearer slopes are touched 
by the transcendent beauty of a rosier light. The 
Tiber from Fidenae, coming down between hills, 
moves more slowly and majestically as it approaches 
grandly arched bridges, and embracing the feet of the 
Seven Hills, pursues its way over the Campagna to 
the purple line of the horizon and the shining sea 
beyond. Between the golden-hued river and the 
mountains lies the Eternal City — a vast sea of tri- 
umphal arches, sombre-colored mausoleums, white 



VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA. • 265 

glittering colonnades, magnificent temples, massive- 
walled amphitheatres, and gorgeous palaces ; and 
over all these is an unwonted illumination — a clear, 
ether light that would gild even the commonest 
things with enchantment. 

Villa Madama, on the side of the mountain, receives 
its name from Margaret of Austria, the wife of a 
Farnese. It is haunted by a grim sort of melancholy 
— memories of Medicean and Bourbon princes — the 
spectres perchance of their sometime immoralities 
that will not be laid. There was something almost 
pitiful in the neglect, the waste, the dreariness; but 
there was a bit of brightness in the court. Spring 
had unfolded roses among the creeping plants, and 
given a little fresh vigor to the ferns and mosses 
growing on the walls, and a flourishing fig-tree 
shaded the dilapidated fountain. We were obliged 
to pick our way over stones and through mud to 
reach the loggia, the only remaining feature of inter- 
est connected with the villa. The roof of the loggia 
has three cupolas, which are singularly beautiful ; 
the vaulting and walls were decorated by Giulio 
Komano and Giovanni da Udine, who, taking classic 
beauty as their ideal, wrought marvels of ingenuity, 
grace, and elegance for the fastidious Medici. But 
dampness has destroyed their beauty; decay has 
eaten into their vitals. Apollos and Dianas look 



266 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

pinched and forlorn; greedy chickens pick out the 
eyes of fallen cupids, and gobble tip disjointed 
nymphs piecemeal, for the villa is now a shab- 
by farmhouse, and the loggia terrace a poultry- 
yard. A something — panting, sobbing — disturbs the 
sombre pall of time: is it the ghostly presence 
of the once proud Medici, vainly imploring aid to 
save the perishing splendors of their former pleasure 
house — the jewelled leaves falling from the crowns 
of Eomano and Da Udine? 

Keturning the way we had come, by the Porta 
Angelica, we went into St. Peter's. We have before 
seen the great church in Easter hangings of scarlet; 
the Pope, wearing the triple crown, borne on a 
throne by priests in purple velvet, attended by cardi- 
nals and bishops in gold-embroidered vestments, 
and the ever-famous Swiss; and our hearts have 
thrilled in sympathy with kneeling thousands in 
the open square, as upon them fell the papal bene- 
diction — "an old man's blessing." We have seen 
it as an illuminated temple of God, its outlines 
a bold, fiery, high relief against a background of 
night; and we have looked down into the dark 
waters of the Tiber, and seen reflected there its 
crowning illuminated glory, the heavenward-lifted 
blazing dome. With the new order of things, the 
ceremonies of Easter-tide are certainly shorn of their 



VILLAS MELLINI AND MADAMA. 267 

pomps. There are no silver trumpets, no gorgeous 
processions, no midnight masses in the Sistine, no 
grand illuminations. But the supreme beauty of 
St. Peter's, as an object of intellectual admiration, 
remains — the marvellous combination of its immense 
space, massed lights, and sustained magnificence. 
As a structure, it has the special quality of never 
exhausting the curiosity ; every visit adds something 
new to all former impressions, either of detail or 
general beauty. We strolled along the pavement, 
between the sculptured colossi and the richly-ap- 
pointed altar-services of temples within a temple, 
toward the golden baldacchino, upon which poured 
a flood of sunshine from the huge dome, and felt, 
as we have so often before, that St. Peter's is the 
most wonderful place perhaps in the world. It is 
certainly the grandest of man's achievements: within 
its vastness the vision expands, and gets a glimpse 
of inexhaustible material means; the imagination, 
moved by the spirit of the colossal, is exalted, and 
seeks the loftiest provinces; and the awe that, in 
the presence of all this grandeur of thought and 
achievement, steals upon one, reaching almost the 
limit of impressionableness, may easily be mistaken 
for an effusion of faith. 

Not many days after our excursion to Monte Mario, 
we returned again to the Vatican. In the palace, 



268 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

what we most value — its priceless art-treasures — are 
untouched. Mention has heretofore been made of 
the galleries as magnificent, interminable marvels 
of decorative skill, and of some of the most noted 
pieces of sculpture found in the unending succession 
of wonders — the gems within the casket. Each col- 
lection is so vast, the vistas of subject and treatment 
so boundless, the wealth of material so piled up that 
at first one is confused in thought and feeling, and 
soon loses himself in a bewildered interminglement 
of both, unless he takes more time than is usually 
allotted to the tourist, or makes up his mind to fore- 
go all detailed inspections except of objects the most 
important and well known. We accepted the latter 
alternative, and giving but little time to the remain- 
ing galleries of statues and busts, made our way to 
the Loggie and Stanze of Kaphael. 

Although the fifty-two paintings on the ceilings 
of the Loggie, called sometimes Eaphael's Bible, 
were mostly executed by his pupils, we can see the 
master's hand in the designs — in their one-minded 
purpose, in the varied individuality of thought, un- 
harmed by discordant notes, as well as in a har- 
monious blending of Pagan ideal beauty with Chris- 
tian feeling and tradition. His genius controlled 
the clever hands that filled the vaulted spaces with 
these wonderful groups — faces as beautiful as bea- 



RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 269 

tific visions, delicately modelled limbs having the 
free ecstacy of action akin to the movements of a 
chorus of gladness. We see in the series of the 
Creations, particularly in the Creation of Light, 
how much of strength he united with grace, how 
much of sublimity with exuberance of joy: the fiery 
clouds are rent as by a thunderbolt, letting in that 
light which should be the brightness, the joy, the 
life-spring of all after creations. 

The Stanze, so called, are three rooms decorated 
by Raphael and his colleagues during the reigns of 
Julius II. and Leo X. Entering through the Sala 
di Constantino, the first room, but not the first 
painted, is the Stanza d'Eliodoro, in which the fres- 
cos are intended to illustrate the triumph of the 
Church over her temporal enemies, and attest the 
truth of her received doctrines. Glancing at the walls, 
the instinctive feeling is that the frescos are repre- 
sentations of actual visions, so striking appears the 
fact that every thought of the artist is incarnate in 
a characteristic human form, and seems a part of 
some dramatic purpose and action, whether it be 
of history or philosophy, symbols or things symbol- 
ized. Though dampness has harmed the frescos, 
and they have been scratched and otherwise ill- 
treated in attempted restorations, we can trace 
proofs of Raphael's wonderfully acute sense of the 



270 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

just relations between color and form, and of his 
manner of producing brilliant effects — using strik- 
ing contrasts rather than gradual leadings from deep 
to light tones. 

In the Heliodorus, from which the stanza receives 
its name, there is a twofold representation and sig- 
nificance, at once understood when we consider the 
character and claims of Julius. The acknowledged 
head and commissioned defender of the patrimonies 
of the Church, whose capital See was Eome, he 
shared the wish of his predecessors in regard to 
the restoration of the city to her ancient glory, but 
coupled with it the desire of a perpetuating remem- 
brance of his own personality. Few Popes have been 
celebrated for modesty or humility, and Julius pos- 
sessed as little of either the earthly or heavenly grace 
as any. He is introduced in the Heliodorus, in the 
midst of a group of men, women, and children, but 
borne on the sella gestatoria. He seems intensely 
interested in the scene opposite, in which the main 
action and motive of the painting center — the arch- 
angel and the avenging messengers trampling under 
their feet the would-be riflers of the temple. The 
German and French invaders, and Bolognese and 
Perugian revolters, are supposed to be typified in 
the Heliodorus and his companions, who attempt 
to seize the treasures of the Temple at Jerusalem; 



RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 271 

while Julius typifies the avenging hosts as the de- 
liverer of his people, the latter being represented 
in the group immediately surrounding him, and the 
high priest Onias in the figure kneeling at the altar, 
which has a rapt sort of calmness, the peace and 
joy of consciousness of prayer already answered. 
For us, the wonder is that the events of the reigns 
of Seleucus IV. and Julius II. should be represented 
in one painting, and so harmonized in general tone 
and effect that we scarcely think of the matter as 
an anachronism. 

In the Miracle of Bolsena, Julius, with his rela- 
tives, two cardinals, assists at a Mass. By a spe- 
cial interference of Divine power, blood flows from 
the consecrated wafer, that an unbeliever may be 
convinced of the doctrine of transubstantiation. We 
feel the hushed stillness of expectancy, and the thrill 
that runs through the multitude when it beholds the 
miracle. Its chief interests as a masterpiece are the 
happy idealization of so many real personages, the nat- 
ural groupings, and the harmonious balance of the 
correspondent parts, the grouping suggesting in a 
marked degree the influence of his early teacher, 
Fra Bartolomeo. 

The two other frescos on the walls, the Attila 
and the Liberation of St. Peter from Prison, are 
much injured. The latter is particularly instructive 



272 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

as a study. It is divided into three parts, each of 
which is an episode in the progress of the story; 
and it has three sources of light — the moon, the 
angel, and a blazing torch in a soldiers hand. 
The Apostle is seen asleep behind iron bars, a 
dark figure against a background of light emanat- 
ing from the angelic visitant, whose beauty is as 
heavenly as his radiance. On one side, but on a 
lower level, the Apostle appears freed from his 
chains, and accompanied by the angel, who here 
seems to have a double light, that radiating from 
his own substance of angelhood being distinguish- 
able from that of the aureole. The effect of this 
twofold light upon the armor of the sleeping sol- 
diers is most wonderful, yet does not waken them. 
On the other side — the work is so disposed in its 
parts as to fit the upper portions of a window-frame 
— we see the guards roused from their slumbers by 
a soldier, who carries a torchlight, and brings the 
tidings of the Apostle's escape. 

If the next room, the Stanza della Segnatura, does 
not represent the sum of human knowledge, it offers 
an approximate representation, in the Disputa, the 
Jurisprudence, the Parnassus,, and the school of 
Athens. The Disputa asserts the uselessness of dis- 
cussion upon matters of faith. It is a portrayal of 
the closing of such a dispute by a miraculous vision, 



RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 273 

which sheds light upon the "men of many minds," 
and through the symbolized mystery of the Eucharist 
reveals a means of communication between God and 
man. The personages of the vision are from both 
the Old and New Testament, each holding the sym- 
bol of his particular office. Among the "Doctors" 
are SS. Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine, Peter 
Lombardus, and Thomas Aquinas. Prominent in 
the foreground is Gregory the Great, in pontifical 
robes, and Innocent III., author of Stabat Mater 
and the Veni Creator. 

It is claimed that the Parnassus is the result of 
inspiration drawn from the Divina Commedia, that 
the Homer is the Homer of the Inferno, and that the 
Apollo and Muses sit under the same laurel-shades 
as those whom Dante and Yirgil met in their sub- 
bas peregrinations. No doubt the lovely female 
figure with the lyre, in the foreground, is intended 
for Sappho; and if one had imagination enough he 
might find Corinne, Pindar, and Petrarch in the 
fresco. 

The School of Athens is for us, by far, the most 
interesting of the mural paintings. In the center 
of the composition stand Plato and Aristotle, the 
one pointing upward, signifying his lofty aspira- 
tions as a seeker after knowledge and excellence, 
both moral and religious; the other "the specula t- 



274 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

ist in realism" extending his hand outward, as if 
the earth — material facts — were his field and in- 
struments of labor. On either side are their re- 
spective disciples and leaders in variations of phil- 
osophy, and in the foreground those in the exact 
sciences. 

We recognize that Raphael went to Rome's ancient 
structures for his architectural designs, and to her gal- 
leries for the accurate features of his personages — the 
Socrates, Pythagoras, Leucippus, Archimedes, and 
Ptolemy. The work though complicated, is broad, 
lofty, and natural; the groups are arranged according 
to their characteristic relations to one another, and the 
action of each figure expresses vividly the thought, 
feeling, and incidents of its situation. But in The 
School of Athens and the remaining frescos of the 
Stanze, as also in the Sibyls of Sta. Maria della 
Pace, we fail to see the so often alleged imitation 
of Michael Angelo. It is true that there is a more 
varied, nobler, broader style, than in compositions 
of anterior dates, the evident results of a constant 
study of nature and the antique. One looks in 
vain for any excess or grandiose exaggeration ; 
their delicate sentiment, pure forms, harmony of 
color, and exquisite grace and loveliness, are wholly 
Raphaelesque, as is also their entire unimpassioned- 
ness. We never feel that Raphael's works are any 



RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 27 l 

part of his own experiences, that he breathed into 
them the breath of his own life, as did Michael 
Angelo; rather, that they are taken from the sub- 
jects of his observations — the streets of Rome, the 
crowds gathered in great churches or under broad- 
spanned archways. 

If we were in a position to make decrees, one 
of the first issued would be that Raphaels, Michael 
Angelos, and Giovanni da Udines should not sub- 
ject their masterpieces to the accidents of palace 
walls — or any other walls, for that matter. It does 
seem such a waste — these lyrics of philosophy, youths 
in luminous .angelhood, Sibyls beautiful in age, like 
the aged of the Elysian Fields, now pallid, mottled 
with dampness, and distorted by widening cracks. 
It makes us sad; but we are mindful of our gains 
in spite of the fading, stains, and insecurity of 
plaster. 

Later, we climbed the steep path which leads to 
San Onofrio, refreshing ourselves with the odor and 
brightness of flowers that choked chinks in wayside 
walls, and overspread gardens and slopes. Within 
the church is the tomb of one whose heart beat and 
cheek glowed with the fire of genius. Weary and 
worn, Tasso sought the adjoining convent, to wait 
for spring and a laurel crown. The sweet vernal 
season came, but the poet had grown pale as the 



276 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

fading April violets. On the eve of the day set 
apart for his triumph, when the favors of the Capi- 
tol were to console him for injustices, loves, and 
failures, the white-winged angel of death hovered 
over the uncrowned head, and he yielded the shad- 
owy, ambitious laurel for a celestial diadem, mur- 
muring " In manus tuas, Domine." After the glare 
and noise the peaceful sleep; after the sultry day 
the starlit night and golden streets ! 

In a small corridor of the convent, one finds a 
memento of Leonardo da Vinci — an exquisite fresco, 
representing the Virgin and Child with the donatorio. 
Though it is much injured, the witching grace, magic 
tenderness, and unsolvable riddle of sentiment, which 
characterize him, are plainly visible ; as also his mas- 
terly finish and theory of light and coloring. The 
oak in the convent garden, planted by Tasso, was 
blown down some years since, but vigorous young 
shoots have sprung up in its place, fit symbols of 
the genius immortal in the Gerusalemme Liberata. 
In the garden St. Filippo Neri used to preach, and 
teach young children to sing the original forms of 
his oratorios. From, the portico of San Onofrio we 
gazed upon a billowy flood of beauty — mountains 
of every form and color, about whose peaks dark 
clouds floated, while the sun sprinkled the valley- 
spaces with showers of gold. Roof-terraces full of 



RAPHAEL AND SAN ONOFRIO. 277 

bloom, balconies wreathed with lustrous vines, and 
lengthened shadows of pine-tree and cypress, were 
crowded together in picturesque confusion. Palace- 
windows and church spires glittered like jewels set 
in molten silver; but above all towered the cross 
of St. Peter's, a single golden star, its centre ra- 
diating "all the splendors of infinite light," a mes- 
senger of peace, hope, and good- will to man; while 
over the backward-sloping hill and the perfumes 
of the neighboring garden, came spring's gentle 
handmaid, the soft south wind, from far-off islands 
of the sea. 



XXIY. 

THE COLONNA, ROSPIGLIOSE, AND STA. MARIA 

MAGGIORE. 

A good thing to do on a fine afternoon is to go 
to the Colonna Gardens. AVe found the way, follow- 
ing a trail of perfumes — immense baskets of roses, 
camellias, and orange blossoms, en route for a fete at 
the palace, the residence of the French ambassador. 
The palace occupies the neighborhood of the site of 
an ancient fortress, which became celebrated during 
the wars between the Colonnas and Orsinis. It is conr- 
paratiyely a modern structure, but is nevertheless 
eloquently suggestive, its mediaeval memories and 
legends furnishing abundant food for thought. The 
entrance is through a grand hall, made somewhat 
gloomy by deep, almost black, shadows that time-has 
put into the portraits on the walls. Disfeaturing 
indistinctness gives them a mysterious, puzzling sort 
of interest; — an unremunerative entertainment to a 
definitive curiosity, however, for in vain one seeks 
traces, facial or otherwise, of qualities which made 



THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 279 

the Colonnas disturbers of the Church, or of those 
that inspired Petrarch to sing their praises, hailing 
them as "Gloriosa Colonna, nostra speranza." 

Old tapestries adorn rooms leading to the Picture 
Gallery, making occasional bits of brightness against 
dark walls. Inspecting such rare treasures, touching 
their antiquated glories, the delicate smoothness of 
their beautiful, intricate webs, one ought to dream, — 
to feel himself somehow become historical, forever 
linked to past ideas and toils. No mouldy, only a 
tender ancientness appertains to the Colonna hang- 
ings; their textures are softened and their tone is 
deepened into velvet-like richness: pale amber tints 
harmonize the almost pristine freshness of flowers 
with the frank, fine yellow of gold-threaded borders 
—a tout ensemble of time-made interests, mellowness, 
and elegance. The sun came in through an open 
window like the soul-illumined face of a lover, touch- 
ing all with a new glitter of beauty, while a twittera- 
tion of birds, from somewhere between the sea of 
flowers and cloudless sky without, made a spirited 
accompaniment to the musical trickling of a garden 
fountain. 

The Great Hall of the Picture Gallery is justly 
noted for the splendors of its decorations. The ceil- 
ing, painted with frescos representing incidents of 
the battle of Lepanto, is a Marc-Antonio-Colonna 



280 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

memorial. On steps leading to the upper end of the 
hall lies a bomb, left where it fell during the siege 
of the city in 1848. Near by we found what most 
interested us — a portrait of Vittoria Colonna, "the 
lofty and noble lady " to whom Michael Angelo ad- 
dressed so many sonnets. Having tendered her 
property to make amends for the evils her family had 
brought upon Rome, she retired to fair, world-forget- 
ting Ischia, where she seemed to feel again "the 
first sweet sense of innocence and love." Visiting 
Naples frequently, she breathed the air of that freer 
intellectual life which was rousing Italy. Moved by 
the wonderful eloquence of Ochino, Fra Bernardino 
of Siena, she became a partial convert to his doc- 
trines, as did the beautiful and learned Giulia 
Gonzaga. At the palace of the latter gathered a 
distinguished circle of reformers, whose centre was 
Valdez, a Spaniard, and a disciple of Ochino. Vit- 
toria returned to Rome in 1536, her thoughts wholly 
intent on religious reforms and the hope that Con- 
tarini would succeed Paul III. — "Thus might the 
age be happy," she says in one of her letters. It was 
about this time that she met the man of "four souls," 
whom she w T as to influence more than did the dead 
Savonarola; for he not only reverenced her piety, but 
was captivated by her beauty and intelligence. One 
cannot read his declaration that by her he had been 



THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 281 

"re-formed, re-made, taught to tread by fairest paths 
the way to heaven," without wishing the grand, soli- 
tary man had known Vittoria- Colonna earlier. We 
see her tall and stately, a princess in all noble quali- 
ties, coming from her convent retreat along the 
blooming garden-paths of the Quirinal to San Sylves- 
tro, where Ochino, who, at her instance, had been 
summoned to Rome, expounded the Scriptures. In 
this little church on Monte Cavallo Avere discussed 
the sentiments and hopes of the society of reformers 
to which she and Michael Angelo had attached them- 
selves; its chief feature being the acceptance of the 
Bible as the source of all truth. Sometimes the gen- 
tle persuasion of the Marchesa would induce the 
prince of artists to discourse on painting for the 
benefit of Francesco d'Ollanda, a Portuguese, who 
greatly preferred Michael Angelo on painting to Fra 
Bernardino and the Epistles; to- his journal we are 
indebted for this fact, and the only known record of 
Michael Angelo's opinions on Art. 

We have lingered on our way, but find the gardens 
none the less charming for these incidental reminis- 
cences of Vittoria Colonna, one of the noblest and 
most famous women of Italy, the friend of Eenata 
of Ferrara and Margaret of Navarre, and in whose 
ancestral name and virtues the title of Marchesa di 
Pescara is almost forgotten. The gardens rise, in 



282 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

easy ascents of winding walks, fragrant terraces, and 
shrub-crowded stairways, from the palace to the sum- 
mit of the Quirinal. The upper terrace commands a 
fine view of the Capitoline, whose Jupiter-displacing 
temple, the church of Ara Coeli, makes a solemn 
shadow against the profaner squareness of Michael 
Angelo's structures. Somehow the sun manages to 
throw a glittering stretch of gold athwart the deep 
blue distance beyond, and touch with a bold dazzle 
the bits of architecture, campanili, arches, windows, 
and balconies, that, with the broader lines of the 
landscape, go down the Capitoline to the Forum. 
Over the near stone parapet trails the rich green of 
interlaced myrtle vines; a weather-worn goddess, in 
soft, mossy " stuffs," with free flowing locks of pale 
green tendrils, specked with tiny white flowers, poses 
in the foreground; and grand old trees, luxuriant 
in leafage, make shade and shelter, and long-drawn 
shadow-blue vistas. The ruins of a temple of the 
sun, broken friezes, weedy staircases, fragments of 
columns, and the bare Torre di Nerone, all take a 
delicious color from the ambient air; and the sun- 
shine, from the westward stooping, reaches the ter 
ra-cotta jars of the old orangerie, warming into a 
delectable glow — and a temptation — the ripe, golden 
fruit. "VVe turn from the garden — Paradise was a 
garden — and ringing a bell at a little gate, are ad- 



THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 283 

mitted into the square of Monte Cavallo. At our 
left, Castor and Pollux, colossals, rein in their won- 
derful steeds at the base of an obelisk which jour- 
neyed from Egypt in company with that in front 
of Sta. Maria Maggiore. Phidias and Praxiteles are 
inscribed on the bases of the statues; whether they 
were wrought by the illustrious Greeks or not, is 
small matter to us. We find the Berlin nicknames 
"Progression Checked and Retrogression Encouraged" 
applicable to the movements of the Titanic marvels. 
Across the square is the Rospigliose palace, and 
in the Casino is Guido's "Aurora" — a poem, all grace 
and beauty, written in celestial colors for the music 
of the spheres, and suspended in air, or rather on 
the ceiling of the Casino. Nothing can be more 
charming than this composition, — the hand-in-hand 
circling hours hurrying on with the fleecy clouds, 
the mettled steeds, coursers of the chariot of the 
sun, impetuous with fiery haste; above, a beautiful 
cherub bearing a naming torch — the herald or morn- 
ing star; and in advance Aurora, her queenly self, 
sailing on golden clouds through the yet shadowful 
air, scattering roses, and bringing light and warmth 
to the awakening earth. The work, as a whole or in 
detail, is thoroughly complete; the feeling is gay, 
joyous; the color luminous with the thought of 
coming dawn; and the movement aerial, as well as 



284 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

swift and regal, as an Aurora should be. The Casino 
hall was filled with copyists, the Aurora being a 
favorite subject with amateurs, as well as with those 
who copy masterpieces to supply human nature's 
daily needs. 

Some one has said that Rome in May is worth 
waiting for. This was made clear to our apprehen- 
sion in the garden of the Casino — a queer little 
garden, raised many feet from the roadway, and 
through which, by a stone staircase, one reaches the 
Casino. We never saw such wealth of roses, ca- 
mellias, -and azaleas; the beds were heaped with 
them ; they crowded into the paths, and climbed over 
the walls. There was every variety — cream color 
and crimson, white and pale pink, light green leaves 
and bronzed ones, and others " stained through with 
red." And the air was loaded with their fragrance, 
and that of heliotrope and jessamine, till its breath 
was almost an intoxication; it enveloped one in a 
vapory dream of mystery and enchantments. 

The longer one remains in Rome, the stronger 
grows its hold on the imagination. In the Vatican, 
on the Campigdolia, and before the grandeur of the 
Coliseum, one is absorbed and self-forgetting, letting 
the days glide into weeks, and the weeks into 
months. You have a desire to make stores as full as 
possible for the afterward, when you may enjoy at 



THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 285 

leisure the results of all the walking, looking and 
questioning; thus thinking, we go from villa to pal- 
ace, from church to gallery, and are never weary of 
suggestions, subjects, or routes. The road to Sta. 
Maria Degli Angeli, by the Piazza Barberini and the 
Villa Massimo Rignano, with its fine palms, once a 
part of the Garden of Sallust, is especially delightful. 
From the Villa we proceed by Sta. Maria Vittoria and 
the Fountain of Termini (whose ugly Moses ought to 
have killed the author at its birth, not waited for 
ridicule to do it) to the church which was built on 
the site and out of the ruins of the Baths of Diocle- 
tian. On the right of the entrance is the tomb of 
Carlo Maratta, the date of his death being 1713; on 
the left is that of Salvator Rosa, who died 1673. 
Against one of the piers stands Houdon's famous 
statue of S. Bruno. The body of the church is filled 
with pictures brought from St. Peter's, their places 
being supplied with mosaic copies. But that which 
pleases us most, in the interior of the edifice, is the 
peculiar subdued brilliancy of tone — a light such as 
we sometimes see in fine pictures, an unobtrusive sun- 
shine of its own. Adjoining the church is the cele- 
brated monastery, with fine cloisters, built by Michael 
Angelo, and the well surrounded by grand cypresses. 
From our house at the top of the Spanish steps, 
the walk to Sta. Maria Maggiore through the 



286 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. 

Quattro Fontana, a continuation of the Felice, is one 
of the pleasantest in the city. The street is alive with 
picturesque delights, but none attract us so much 
as the groups of contadini coming from or going to 
the village neighborhoods: among them are models 
decked in their posing finery; it may be a long- 
haired and bearded fierce-eyed old man, who serves 
equally well as a prophet or bandit; or better, it is a 
sweet, tender-faced young, girl, with wide, dreamy 
eyes, carrying in her arms a beautiful boy, and as she 
sits down by the wayside with her little burden, we 
see how lovely should be the artist's Madonna. 

In its construction, the church is an example of 
fine effects obtained by simple means; one might al- 
most think himself in a Greek temple. The decora- 
tions are in an entirely different spirit. The roof is a 
miracle of carving, and is gilt with gold sent to Al- 
exander VI. by Ferdinand and Isabella, it being the 
first brought to Spain from South America. There is 
an endless fascination in the dark-red and violet hues 
of the splendid opus-alexandrinum pavement; they en- 
liven the white and gold tones of the wall, and har- 
monize with the mosaic frieze above the white mar- 
ble columns of the nave. A baldacchino over the high 
altar is supported by porphyry columns wreathed 
with gilt leaves, and surmounted by figures of an- 
gels. We fancy that there is a sentiment of friendli- 



THE COLONNA AND STA. MARIA MAGGIORE. 287 

ness in the cheerful, light tone of grandeur, and gen- 
eral warm radiance of gold, crimsons, and sapphire, 
inviting the weary, solitary, and burdened to comfort 
at altars and confessionals. The finest chapels are 
the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, built by him who, 
once a shepherd boy at Montalto, came to command 
kings — Sixtus V. ; and the Borghese, opposite, with its 
two white popes, its precious alabasters, its altar of 
fluted jasper, and its memories of the gentle Princess 
Borghese, the English Lady, Gwendoline Talbot. 

The last time we saw the church of Sta. Maria 
Maggiore, was on a Sunday afternoon. The vesper 
Angelus was rolling through its vastness — a sea of 
sound beating against a sea of color; a warm light 
streamed in through the western window panes; 
and two canons in white vestments, looking like 
marble figures, knelt before the altar of the tri- 
bune. A few people were passing in and out by 
the great portal, others moved softly about aisles, 
going from one "station" to another, while some 
knelt on the hard pavement or against one of the 
marble columns. When the lights on the altars be- 
gan to grow bright, like the coming out of little 
stars, the nooks and corners to grow shadowy, and 
the roof to seem moving far away from us, the 
music ceased. The church became very still, and we 
stole out, taking the picture with us as a memento. 



XXV. 



T I V L I . 



One may not leave Rome without going to Tivoli. 
The road, the ancient Tiburtina, is less beautiful 
than others about Rome, being across a desolate 
portion of the Campagna, whose dreary brown is 
relieved only by the green "willow-fringed" banks 
of the Anio and small streams that pour their 
waters into it; beside which cluster perhaps now 
and then a few pale primroses. Occasionally we 
see the pavement of the ancient via; historical 
sites, those of temples, castles, and towns, may be 
descried on either side, if the tourist feels inclined 
to take the trouble of identifying them. A short 
distance beyond Ponte Lucano — famous in a pic- 
ture of Poussin — and the massive castellated tomb 
of the Plautii, a lane leads to the gate of Hadrian's 
Villa. In spite of the ruthless hand of " Signor 
Rosa," who pulled up the flowers, tore the vines 
from the ruins, and put out the blinking eyes of 



tivoli. 289 

little periwinkles, we found banks purple with vio- 
lets, crocus-blooms in shady places, and the air laden 
with the breath of wild roses. The ruins cover acres 
of glades, avenues, and grassy arenas; it is no won- 
der that the shapeless, confused masses are the craze 
of archa3ologists. Our guide tells us that on this 
hillock stood the palace; there was the Therma, and 
in the field beyond the Hippodrome; this mound 
of broken masonry was the Lyceum, that the re- 
mains of a temple; and. in the valley before us were 
the Elysian Fields. The reticulated wall of a por- 
tico — the roof covered with bas-reliefs representing 
Cupids, groups of reclining figures, and curious musi- 
cal instruments — is still standing, the most perfect 
of the ruins. We rested by one of the columns, and 
tried to picture all as seen by the fleeing Benedict 
on his way to Subiaco in the fifth century — the 
splendors of marble, bronze, and gold, gems stolen 
from the temples of Athens and Egypt, treasures 
brought from Babylon and the Ebro — when purple- 
bannered boats floated on the Canopus, and Greek 
songs and the odor of incense filled the air. In 
whatever gallery we have found ourselves, some- 
thing from Hadrian's Villa has confronted us — a 
thing no longer a matter of wonder, knowing its 
territorial extent, and that he plundered the world 
to build it. 



290 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

From the Villa, the road winds zig-zag-wise up 
the hill, through magnificent groves of olive trees, 
with foliage of a subdued tender gray, as if they 
kept in memory those of another Mountain, and the 
scenes of the garden of Gethsemane. As we look 
up, coming from below, the delicately pointed leaves 
and small white blossoms trembling at the lightest 
touch of the breeze, the white, gnarled, twisted, and 
loop-holed branches make fantastic traceries — silvery 
arabesques — against the misty azure between us and 
the sky. Reaching the top of the hill, we pass a 
five-towered castle, and are in the streets of Tivoli, 
the Tibur of the ancients, where Horace, would fain 
make his rest — our Horace, not the classic poet, 
though the latter once uttered a like sentiment. 

The region is a mine of memories, natural beauties, 
and legendary charms. If the names clinging to 
sites have any truth in history, here the emperors 
built their villas, filled them with treasures of art, 
adorned gardens with flashing fountains and white 
statues, and planted ilex and crypress walks. Zeno- 
bia, the captive queen of Palmyra, dwelt near the 
town, in a beautiful villa, the gift of Aurelian, and 
married her daughters to noble Romans. And poets 
flocked hither — Horace to whom Maecenas gave a 
farm, and in return, the poet, verses; Propertius sing- 
ing love-songs to the " golden maid of the Tibur " ; 



TIVOLI. 291 

and Statius praising the dwelling of Vobiscus and its 
Olympian delights, the roof-tree whence one " gazed 
on still and silent woodlands." Centuries later Ari- 
osto dedicated fine poems to Cardinal d'Este, and 
dwelt with him in his magnificent villa. 

We made our first halt at the Temple of the Sibyl, 
a circular building with Corinthian columns, perched 
on the edge of a cliff, its orange hue festooned with 
green, ivy, and clematis. On one side the great fall 
thundered forth its deep bass, and on the other 
lighter notes of small cascades went through a spark- 
ling fugue, intelligible no doubt to the sirens who 
dwell in the caverns below. The sloping foreground 
was a confusion of foliage — pine trees and dark 
cypress branches, thickets of roses, acacias, and lau- 
rels, and here and there a gray mass of rocks, with 
a white umbrella, and somebody under the umbrella 
sketching. Through gradually-descending, garden- 
like walks, we were led down to the Grottos — deep 
caves dug in the rocks by the persistence of falling 
waters. Here was the bed of the Anio till 1826, 
when, because of damaging inundations, the govern- 
ment changed the course of the river, and in 1834 
completed the present artificial cascade, three hun 
dred and twenty feet in height. 

The natural beauties of Tivoli offer an ever-chang- 
ing panorama of enchantments; each picture seeming 



292 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

the loveliest and most perfect while it lasts. Fol 
lowing a path along the valley, we cross to the slopes 
of Monte Peschiavatore, and the little chapel of La 
Madonna di Quintiliolo, a point opposite the small 
cascades. Local tradition derives the name from 
Quintilius Varus, whose villa may have been in this 
neighborhood; inlaid pavements and statues have 
been found here, with other remains indicating it as 
the some-time locality of a sumptuous villa. Along 
the roadside were benches and parapets where idlers 
sat; beneath us were deep ravines, sombre with dark 
green branches, whose rustle mingled with the roar 
of waters; old convents and chapels peeped out -of 
mountain nooks, while others seemed to cling to 
bare cliffs; hyacinths, violets, and anemones covered 
the banks, or crushed under our feet, giving delicious 
odors with the sacrifice. On the opposite side, be- 
neath the huge pile misnamed the Villa of Maecenas, 
a thousand small cascades seemed a snow-white bank 
of ripple and spray, as they leaped and danced and 
foamed on their way down to the Anio. Above rose 
the town with its odd old houses, castles, and towers, 
hoary trees, and glitter of sunshine, and beyond were 
glimpses of vast dreamy distances of Campagna. 

Below Quintiliolo, in the depths of the valley, we 
took a path winding through an olive wood, and 
found the bridge of the golden water, but not the 



tivoli. 293 

maid of the fountain, unless a golden-haired child 
belonging to a party of English tourists might have 
been taken for her. At the top of an ascent leading 
back to the town, we met what might have proved 
a fortune to Henry James, Jr. — a whole army of 
" American types." They were taking their luncheon, 
but we preferred ours in one of the shady avenues 
of the Villa d'Este. The villa has lost something 
of its imposing grandeur. Desolation has entered, 
stalking through the courtyard and chambers, while 
Melancholy sits under the laurels, frowning at lilacs, 
and picking to pieces roses and orange blossoms. 
The statues are mossy and green-eyed; the immense 
fountains are overgrown with maiden-hair, and the 
arches choked with tangled masses of foliage; but 
water murmurs in the stone runnels, and birds sing 
in the cypress branches. We did not wait on the 
garden terrace for the sunset, but took it later from 
the brow of the hill, the evening purple and shadows 
mingling before we reached the plain. Homeward 
by moonlight ! how beautiful and grand it was ! We 
drove round by the Fountain of Trevi, that a parting 
draught of its sweet waters might insure our some- 
time return, for on the morrow we were to leave 
Rome. 



XXVI. 

FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 

We left Kome at 5 p. m. The initial cheerlessness 
of the Campagna seemed a fitting prelude to the 
lugubriousness of a moonless night journey. Along 
the route there were no streams, no aqueducts, no 
dismantled castle walls; and the leafage of trees 
was the scantiest, and of the somberest tints. Na- 
ture, wholly indifferent to the funereal aspect, makes 
no compensating efforts; the waste and mournf ill- 
ness are enlivened neither by song of bird in shel- 
tering branches nor bloom of flowers covering long 
monotonous undulations — the filled-up trenches of 
dead and buried ages. We were thankful for the 
beauty of the sunset, a soft azure sky streaked with 
flashes of crimson changing into gold, with a final 
gorgeous flood-burst of orange ; and for the delicious, 
tender twilight, its serenity invaded only by visions 
of our vanished joys, the weeks in Kome. 

We knew when we had entered the region of 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 295 

the Apennines by the purer atmosphere, and a sud- 
den chilliness that had stolen into the air. Forms 
grew strangely weird and fantastic ; scenes of ghostly 
disorders glared at us as we rushed by dimly lighted 
stations. When we halted, gleaming eyes and sallow 
bronzed visages were at our carriage windows, vehe- 
ment gesticulations vying with vehement dialects to 
make us comprehend appeals or threats. We longed 
for daylight; its first faint signs were hailed with 
definite expressions of gratitude. A clear sunrise 
soon dispelled vague confused interminglings of 
dreaming and waking, revealing to us a succession 
of charming views, green valley reaches closely 
pressed by wooded slopes, far - heaped - up heights, 
monstrous splits in rocky crags bridged by suspen- 
sions of ivy, overhanging citadels, bastions of crumb- 
ling castle walls, and tall, glittering monastery tow- 
ers, from which rang out merry chiming matin bells. 
A boy, aged five, the dear " precocious " of a party, 
was the first to discover Lake Thrasymene. With 
paternal aid he had been lifted to an advantageous 
position, and to an appreciative one, doubtless, by 
readings of "Lays of Ancient Rome," a dog-eared 
copy of which was the object of his especial care. 
The lake, "reedy Thrasymene with dark Verbena," 
was for us, a real, liquid splendor, sapphire set in 
oak and olive wood. It preserves always a fair and 



296 .A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

passionless beauty, for it is said that storms have 
little effect on its shallow waters. A veil of mist 
hung over the lake, filling the lovely, low- lying- 
basin between the hills on a certain spring morning 
a. d. 217. Flaminius, Koman consul and general, 
in hard pursuit of Koine's direst foe, rejoiced, think- 
ing under its cover to gain the clear hilltops, and 
the rear -guard of the enemy. But it proved no 
friendly gossamer for him. Flaminius . left the de- 
file of Passignano only to lead his brave legions to 
certain death. Punic arms bristled unseen on every 
crag, choking the pass, 

"And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 
Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red." 

Arrezzo passed, we had glimpses of valleys be- 
tween dark pine-wooded slopes cutting the Val d' 
Arno, while the latter, contracting, stretched far 
away into misty distances beyond sun -illumined 
Vallombrosa. Milton remembered Vallombrosa and 
wrote of Paradise. 

Tuscan air grew milder; rose-bushes peeped over 
high walls, and oleanders and pomegranates bloomed 
by villa gateways. Emerging from the temporary 
darkness of a mountain tunnel, we suddenly descried 
Brunelleschi's giant dome, which catching the shim- 
mer of auroral splendors seemed a mountain of mol- 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 297 

ten gold. The campanile of San Miniato defined itself 
against the paling blue of the sky. Fiesole with her 
summit-enthroned cathedral smiled serenely in the 
midst of her high gardens, the lovelier for a minor 
touch of cypress shadow here and there, and we 
knew that below lay fair Florence. A few moments 
of alert expectancy and she was visible, a white con- 
fusion of spires and towers rising above sunlit masses 
of verdure, — also the broad luxuriant plain of the 
Arno with liberal, far-away-leading vistas, and yel- 
low river winding, twisting and glittering. 

Alighting at the station we were driven at once 
to Casa Guidi, where a friend had secured us apart- 
ments. After the homage of a few hours to fatigue, 
and the inspection of our quarters, we turned for 
first impressions to " Casa Guidi Windows," recall- 
ing a famous "meditation and a dream." And lis- 
tening, we, too, heard a child go singing by the 
church, but the song was not the " bella liberta " 
heard by a poet prophetess, who gazing out of these 
same windows saw such visions — trains of orderly 
processions, Florentine eyes flashing with Lombard 
triumph, the flight of Duke Leopold and his com- 
ing back, Tuscany flooded with Austrian armaments, 
the people's gains by blood and strife, and Charles 
Albert in his " Oporto shroud." She looked, prayed, 
prophesied, and trusted God's ways for Italy. Sing- 



298 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

ing to-day, her strains would have lost their note of 
anguish. Casa Guidi is an unadorned stucco struct- 
ure with large rectangular windows, and opens di- 
rectly upon the street. Near the entrance, just above 
the first story casement, a simple tablet records the 
fact that here Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote and 
died, and that grateful Florence erected the tablet. 
Having made acquaintance with the general to- 
pography of the city, we drove one afternoon to the 
Cascine, the fashionable rendezvous of Florentine 
pleasure seekers. It is a delightful resort, with 
smooth, emerald-like lawns, avenues of ivy-mantled 
trees, and a river, the Arno, wandering toward dis- 
tant purple mountain slopes. Handsome equipages 
roll up and down the broad drives, or stand in open 
spaces that their occupants may chat with promena- 
ders. We had chosen one of those warm, tender- 
tinted days that harmonizes details, and makes the 
tout-ensemble of things of earth and air seem per- 
fect. There was color, and fragrance, and musical 
Tuscan glibness everywhere; each, however, had 
largest expression in the square of the great Cafe. 
Here a band, "of wind and stringed instruments," 
played familiar airs, but we found fascination in 
tables heaped w r ith flowers — flowers of every possi- 
ble form and every conceivable hue; crimson thorn- 
blossoms, lovely heliotrope, ranging from imperial 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 299 

to sky purple, flames of nasturtiums, red and yellow, 
and fair orange buds and bloom, pinks and crysan- 
themums, starry passion flowers, bunches of violets 
held together with straw threads, roses, pale and 
sweet, and dark roses, velvet reel, but heavy with 
fragrance, and bright with crystal drops, — the spray 
of a fountain keeping this floral array as fresh and 
glittering as though yet wet with morning dew. 
Filling a basket with the choicest blossoms, we 
drove to the Protestant Cemetery. It is a matter 
of regret that the former seclusion and picturesque 
beauty of the place have been sacrificed to icono- 
clastic repairs, the ivy -covered walls demolished, 
and the grand old cypresses of the hill, cut down. 
A white marble, sarcophagus-like monument covers 
the final resting-place of the before-mentioned gen- 
tle Englishwoman who made the wrongs of "Bella 
Italia" the theme of her sublimest inspirations. One 
of the panels bears her portrait in basso-relievo, and 
beneath are the initials E. B. B. 1861. A faded 
floral tribute of other hands we reverently replaced 
with our fresher roses and violets, sprinkling them 
with water from a near garden well that they might 
the longer keep their beauty and their fragrance, 
and hoping that a few root tendrils left as if by 
chance might spring to life, crowding their purple 
bloom upon the cold marble, and filling the air 



300 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

with their odorous breath ere another blossoming 
mid-May. 

We soon settled to a quiet enjoyment of our 
cheerful quarters, to which little touches of our 
own hands had given something personal and 
homelike. Romola and the Life of Savonarola 
were road aloud, and then each began for him- 
self the History of the Commonwealth. Taken thus 
into the atmosphere of the old, we obtained a key 
to signs and meanings in stone, and marble, and 
frescoed wall. 

- One of the nearest objects of interest to us, was; 
the Pitti Palace, an imposing structure of monu- 
mental intentions and effects. It is a wonder not 
only for its vast lines and gigantic proportions, but 
for the massiveness of its material. The larger blocks 
of the ground story are twenty-five feet long, dark, 
rugged, suggesting sections of mountains, and Cyclo- 
pean hands. The architectural forms are as severe 
and grandiose as the material, consisting of immense 
quadrangular walls topped by massive balustrades, 
stout Doric pillars, robust resistant Corinthian col- 
umns, and colossal arches, the whole bristling with 
high reliefs, sharpness of angles and hugeness of 
bosses. It wins our homage as an individual maj- 
esty, for around it lingers real glory of Renaissant 
architecture, originality, intellectual audacity, and 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 301 

impressive simplicity; also actual glory of the palmy 
days of Florence as a people and power, for from its 
solidarity it cannot have been greatly affected by 
shifting policies. The palace was built by Luca 
Pitti, an ambitious Florentine merchant, whose de- 
scendants sold it to the Medici in the sixteenth 
century. Victor Emanuel occupied the Pitti so 
long as Florence was the national capital. We 
fancy that the huge simplicity of its exterior bet- 
ter suited the strong indomitable " Be Galantuomo" 
than the extravagant splendors of the interior. 

The Grand Ducal apartments fairly glow with 
gorgeousness, but their tone is soft because of exqui- 
site harmony in details. Every room seems golden 
roofed, so great is the preponderance of gilt in fres- 
cos and borders of ceilings or cornices. Many of 
the frescos belong to Medicean times, their pur- 
pose being to honor the reigning family. One tries 
to forget history and believe allegory, Cortona's or 
Fedi's Cosmo I. as a type of heroic exploits in the 
famous Minerva, or attended by Glory and Virtue 
as in another mythological representation. Richness 
of material and artistic skill in minor decorations, in 
heavy tapestries and arrays of furniture seem almost 
unexampled. Pietradura tables, malachite and lapis- 
lazuli, cabinets of ivory inlaid with pearl, some rep- 
resenting the toil of a lifetime, and wonderful gold 



302 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

cups and vases, masterpieces of Cellini, contrive to 
bewilder the admiration, while the floors are remark- 
able marble mosaics, or are covered with carpets 
wrought in some land of enchantment, where text- 
ures vie with color. In these wonders we recognize 
the luxury, splendors, and pomps, by which sover- 
eigns manifested and maintained their rank; and 
one notes how well they harmonize with princely 
refinements, ceremonies and festivities, whether of 
Grand Dukes or Kings.. 

Medicean princes, however worldly they may have 
been in their aims, became connoisseurs in all the 
progressive movements of their age. Their intel- 
ligent patronage quickened the development of in- 
tellectual forces already generated in Tuscany, 
conditioning them, and making Florence not only 
the center of general culture but home of Art. 
Certainly a people could not have nobler specialties, 
those with sublimer motives or more generous uni- 
versality. Florence showed herself worthy her op- 
portunities, subordinating everything to aesthetic 
impulses. By dominant good taste, skill and pa- 
tience, she maintained her supremacy, and preserved 
in main the pure ideals of the Medicean rule. Thus 
she became the possessor of an unbroken heritage 
of beauty, in painting sculpture and architecture. 
Later centuries have not only " spared injury," but 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 303 

have cared for and added to her wealth, hence the 
atmosphere of palaces, galleries and churches is 
cheerful, sometimes a little crepuscularly tender, but 
never oppressive. 

The notable collections of the Pitti Palace were 
made by the Medici; and they unmistakably indi- 
cate the intentions and relations of these patron 
princes to Art and artists. The collections belong 
to the so-called best period of Italian art, or the 
last of the fifteenth and greater part of the sixteenth 
century. There is an occasional work of earlier 
times, but we find Kaphaels, Titians, Paul Veroneses, 
and Vandykes in masterful abundance. Raphael's 
Madonna della Seggiola, the patron picture of so 
many Art-devotees, is infinitely more beautiful than 
any copy or engraving yet made of it. Its beauty, 
however, is wholly physical; it suggests nothing of 
spiritual emotions, either from without or within. 
We prefer his Grand Duke's Madonna, which is 
seemingly a single thought, a concentrated spiritual 
life or experience. There is a kind of semi-sacred- 
ness in the apparent conscious apartness from worldly 
things, and in the evident capabilities for miraculous 
impressions. 

Andrea del Sarto, of whom we have hitherto 
known little, gains in our love. Successive visits 
to the Pitti reveal innumerable attractions in one 



304 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

whom the present age consents to call " second 
rate." His technical qualities were considered so 
far above criticism by his contemporaries that they 
sometimes characterized him as " il pittore senza 
errori. n The types indicated in his pictures have 
tl;e purest moral excellence, and there is certainly 
nothing false about him either in taste or style. 
His color though not brilliant, is rich, and effect- 
ive in grave tones and peculiar blendings of hues 
— low, yet lustrous harmonies. If he lacks poetic 
inspiration, and is occasionally incomplete, he is 
always graceful, tranquil and strong. His St. John 
Baptist is infinitely lovely, being not on'ly poetic, 
but having a completeness of conception and finish 
not unworthy the golden age of Art. Outside the 
interest of his broad browed Madonnas, comely saints 
and stately apostles, there is a certain mysterious, 
strangely subtle charm in his pictures, the clue to 
which it is difficult to find. We feel that it is el- 
emental, and sometimes think we have it in the deep 
shadows — that they are reflected notes of melancholy, 
touches of suffering in some form that thus express 
themselves, and appeal to what may be responsive 
in us. 

As represented in the Pitti Galleries, Paul Vero- 
nese is a quite u au cord retire" of Andrea del Sarto. 
The former's distinctive characteristics seem to be 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 305 

sunshine and glitter, scenic displays and massed 
gorgeousness. If possible, he idealizes magnifi- 
cence, the sheen of satin and brocades, silver and 
gold plate, pomps of courts and processional pa- 
geantries, all imaginable wealth and worldliness. 
One of his best pictures in the Pitti is his Bap- 
tism of Christ. In this, technical and spiritual ele- 
ments blend more harmoniously than in many of 
his works. There is the beauty of both under an 
apparently firm realistic handling of the subject. 
As a composition, it is a unity of loveliness, broad 
in conception and sentiment and varied in details. 
The heads are wonderfully fine; the faces express 
a serene, heaven-born joy; the figures are noble, 
vigorous and handsomely draped, particularly that 
of the Christ with the beautiful purple Venetian 
cloth about the loins; and attitudes and move- 
ments all seem eloquent with the purposes of the 
story. In the landscape there is that largeness, 
with open sky spaces and opulence of Nature that 
Veronese especially delighted in, while form, color, 
light and shadow, are made to act as visible and 
direct interpreters of his intentions; pictorially noth- 
ing can be finer than the radiant glow of the early 
morning, and the clear silvery tints of the atmosphere. 
In the domain of portraiture, the Venetian masters, 
if fairly represented in this collection, are unequalled, 



306 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

particularly in the power of expressing personality 
of character. In Titian's Emperor Charles the Fifth, 
we see a man who worked his own will, not by indi- 
vidual might only, but by the " divine right of 
kings." It is in the face, the superb pose of the 
head; in the puffed sleeves and trailing skirt of the 
sumptuous robe, and in the tread, that of majesty. 
The most remarkable portrait, the masterpiece of 
the gallery, is also Titian's. A man of, perhaps, 
thirty-five years, in black. The head is small, face 
thin and pale, the eyes blue, with an intense out- 
look. He is evidently a Venetian of noble birth, one 
habituated to a life of anxieties, quick to resolve, 
and energetic in action; handsome, dangerous, and 
defiant. " Ritratto virile" is the information the cata- 
logue offers, so one may weave a story to suit his 
own fancy. Da Vinci's white-veiled "Nun" is no 
doubt a portrait, for it has all the actuality of life. 
AVorldliness and cloister-life are strongly contrasted 
in the same person, the black robe, low-necked, the 
colorless face with carnation lips, luminous yet watch- 
ful eyes, disquiet just discernible, and that fugitive, 
uncertain smile seen in many of his ideal pictures. 
As a portrait, it comes nearer the Venetian excel- 
lence in innerness of individuality; or if ideal, it 
simulates it more nearly than do Kaphael por- 
traitures. 



FROM ROME TO FLORENCE. 307 

If by any happy chance it was permitted, when we 
left the galleries we went into the Boboli Gardens. 
They are naturally as well as artificially picturesque, 
being scattered over uneven undulations, which not 
only enlarge their apparent size, but give level out- 
looks to distant mountains dotted with villas and 
villages. The views from the amphitheatre are par- 
ticularly charming; the stone benches have cypress- 
curtained backgrounds. We sat there and watched 
the cool shadows steal into the dusky ilex-walks. 
There was a fascination in the deep stillness of shadowy 
vistas, groves, and grottos — a stillness that at times 
became solemn and oppressive, as if haunted by 
the ghosts of by-gones; memories and regrets pro- 
jected, perhaps, from the Palace ! 



XXVII. 

PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND EIESOLE. 

It was once the custom to strew with flowers, on 
the anniversary of the event, the stone marking 
the place of Savonarola's martyrdom; — we renewed 
the custom one bright morning as we turned our 
pilgrim feet toward the notable shrine in the Piazza 
della Signoria, procuring therefor the fairest and 
sweetest near Ponte Vecchio. In stone and air lin- 
gers "the odor of a sincere man's virtues," and if 
one choose he may feel a presence standing where 
the mutilated cross stood. Savonarola, torn from the 
struggling monks and his " dear brother " of San 
Marco, was dragged back through serried ranks of 
deriding faces to the Piazza, where but lately he had 
braved the vengeance wrought of lust and strife in 
his so-called Bonfire of Vanities, and the virtual 
failure of the Trial by Fire. To what degree of 
faith in the supernatural his habits of ecstatic con- 
templation may have carried him, we know not. 
When the rain fell, wetting the heaped-up pyre, 



PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 309 

the happening hoped for by both Franciscans and 
Dominicans, he knew himself dishonored, and read 
his doom in the triumph of his enemies. He was 
imprisoned in the tower of the Old Palace : there he 
passed the intervals of torture previous to his actual 
Trial by Fire — the- supreme moment of his exaltation, 
when he could say, "I count as nothing: darkness 
encompasses me: yet the light I saw was the true 
light": and a solemn, eternal silence fell upon him. 
The old tower still rings bells, the life-current in 
human hearts responds to the same loves, but not 
the same hates, that "for something better" still 
sighs and needs; and renunciation is still the sum 
of what is best even in earnest striving lives. 

The Palazzo Vecchio is perhaps the most unique 
structure in Florence, certainly one that architectur- 
ally and historically asserts a grand and impressive 
individuality. Within its shadow have culminated 
many of the civil dissensions, cruel domestic trage- 
dies, and terror-striking "Masques of Furies," that 
have successively convulsed the fair city, from the 
notable struggles for ascendency between Guelph 
and Ghibelline to the time of its occupancy by the 
present government. Storms raged in palace, square, 
and street, but meanwhile there was at work in the 
heart of the city another life, an element that would 
build, elaborate, and adorn. From contending ranks 



310 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

emerged a long line of Tuscan immortals, — artists, 
poets, and lovers of country, — whose names come 
down through the centuries to us, and in whose 
achievements we recognize the necessities, longings, 
and conditions of prominent epochs of Florentine 
history. In the light of thought the past is recon- 
ciled with the present, while the future, in promises 
renewed and strengthened, is expectant of greater, 
nobler deeds. The despot's hand no longer op- 
presses, and ecclesiastical rule has small sway. In- 
stead of foreign aid, w T ith the roll of drums and 
tramp of horses along the Pisan road, a gay throng 
moves that way, en route for a Festa, commemorating 
the union of the Italian States, — glint and glitter on 
banners, plumes, and brocaded devices. 

In the Piazza it seemed to have rained flow r ers — a 
tumult of color jostled a tumult of light and shad- 
ow: these latter, rapid workers of miracles, wrought 
infinitely well, bringing out the beauty of the rough 
rubble-work of the Palazzo, and the peculiar forms 
of massive sculptures, and other enrichments of bat- 
tlements, galleries, arches, and windows. The tow- 
er, so oddly set upon the front of the huge, fortress- 
like pile, has a sort of baldacchino crown, with a 
banner staff rising above, up which, rat -fashion, 
climbs the Florentine lion. This ever-notable tower 
grows into one's likings despite its want of symmet- 



PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZT, AND FIESOLE. 311 

ric grace, for it is the prominent coup cTceil in all 
comings and goings, and is transfigured into a thing 
of beauty in the golden light of the region into 
which Arnolfo's daring carried it. There is no more 
striking feature of the characteristic imprint left upon 
the city by Arnolfo than this singular tower — a prob- 
lem in stone, in which vastness of design and colos- 
sal simplicity verge upon bravado. A decree of the 
Commonwealth that, "forever after the feet of men 
should pass over the place of the hearths of pro- 
scribed nobles," limited the architect in space, and 
consequently compelled him to dwarf his original 
designs in building the main structure. 

Within the Palazzo one feels more intensely its 
relations to actual history, gets that independent 
remoteness from present time and circumstance nec- 
essary to make real to him what he has read. We 
paused in the beautiful, dim courtyard to take up 
such threads as we might of its six hundred and 
more years of story, and admire the lovely fountain 
of porphyry and bronze, which gives light as well 
as color to relieve the general shadowy gloominess. 
The animated, joyous expression of the boy holding 
back the dolphin, and the aerial, almost winged ac- 
tion of his pose, have a brightness akin to sunshine; 
one would say he was born at the bidding of pri- 
meval air, light, and motion. The frescos of the 



312 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

walls have lost their former-time glories, — celestial 
blues and gold grounds; — Joanna of Austria would 
scarcely recognize her gay German cities in the pale 
outlines remaining. 

Ascending a staircase at the left of the entrance, 
we reached the famous Sala del Cinquecento, built 
during Savonarola's control of the government for 
the accommodation of the Great Councils. It was 
in this Hall that Victor Emanuel opened the first 
Italian Parliament in 1864, winning, it is recorded, 
" the respect of all by his soldier-like simplicity and 
dignified demeanor." The decorations of the hall 
are in magnificent style; they were chiefly executed 
under the Medici, and commemorate their exploits. 
Another and still more magnificent hall is the Sala 
del Ducento. Its proportions are fine ; the ceiling is 
of stone carved in hollow squares, having roses and 
lilies in relief; the cornice, which is also of stone, 
bears the shields of the Kepublic, — infinite repeti- 
tions of crosses and keys and Florentine lilies. We 
climbed another staircase to the Sala del Orologio, 
and the Sala del Udienza. In the latter the Council 
of the Signory exercised their duties, conducting 
them with religious solemnity; the wine brought 
to their table was consecrated on the altar of San 
Michele in the small chapel leading from the hall. 
A Latin inscription over the doorway of the chapel 



PALAZZOS YECCHTO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 



313 



recalls the story of the strange proclamation made 
from the front of the palace in 1528. In these halls 
we tried to comprehend the sentiments of those who 
ruled Florence in the days of the Republic, but in vain ; 
a medley of situations and ideas presented themselves; 
the summing-up of all, however, was the conclusion 
that a certain amount of restiveness, breaking, and 
blood-letting, was needful to prepare the way for the 
after period of Art-progress — the so-called Renaissance. 
In close proximity to the Old Palace is the Log- 
gia dei Lanzi. There are only three arches, but 
they are perfect. Nothing can be lighter or more 
graceful than the columns, capitals and frieze, 
while the projecting cornice gives unity to all as 
a structure. The area is raised several feet from 
the level of the piazza; here stand some of the 
finest creations of Art, . the Perseus of Benvenuto, 
Donatello's Judith and Holofernes, a group repre- 
senting Ajax with the body of Patrocles, John of 
Bologna's Sabines, and a lovely Thusnelda who 
still dreams of her native forests. Sitting on the 
steps of the Loggia, an intensely Italian sun quick- 
ening the pace of obliging fancy, we saw in the 
passing crowd forms, faces, and costumes from the 
galleries of the Pitti and Uffizi, actors in the story 
of Savonarola, possible Pisans, Pistoians, and Vol- 
tarans, the people of the Feast of St. John's Day, 



314 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

with those who might have played chiefs in the old 
Florentine " Oblazione." How great was the indigna- 
tion of the immortal Dante, when advised to purchase, 
by submitting to its humiliations, return to his be- 
loved Florence ! Fortunately for us he preferred ex- 
ile, the pains of which gave birth to his Triple Poem. 
A stately portico, the arches filled with statues 
of Florentine heroes, Uberti, Nere and Ferrucci, 
and pillars adorned with busts of sculptors, paint- 
ers and poets, leads by Lung 'Arno to the Grand 
Entrance of the Uffizi. Ascending the one hun- 
dred and more steps, and passing the vestibule in 
which are uninteresting statues of the Medici, we 
reached the first Hall. Gazing down the far vista 
we were confronted by an array of forms and hues, 
and openings revealing other vistas leading to inner 
sanctums. Of these, one was built by Grand Duke 
Leopold, for Niobe and her children, turned to stone 
by some Greek at the moment of their signal strug- 
gle with avenging destiny. Niobe, with the young- 
est daughter whom she vainly strives to shield from 
the shafts of Apollo, stands at the farther end .of 
the room, the other figures being arranged around 
singly. The slain youth is the finest of the group, 
— the calm peaceful expression in the face seems to 
say, "It is sweet to be withdrawn, even thus, from 
conflict." The figure of the girl wounded in the 



PAT.AZZOS VECCniO, UFFIZI. AND FIESOLE. 



315 



neck is very beautiful, as are also the two sisters 
flying in terror from the scene. Greek art is not 
seen at its best in the Niobe group, although its 
distinctive features — repose, strength, and the su- 
premacy of physical beauty — are manifest. 

Eeturned to the corridor, bright gleams of sun- 
light streamed down from the high windows, warm- 
ing into roseateness first a row of Athletes, then a 
vailed Vestal Virgin, now a youth drawing a thorn 
from his foot. A little further down the Hall, two 
antique Marsyae confront each other, and Rossel- 
lino's St. John flying into the wilderness shows the 
high surface-polish peculiar to Cinquecento Art. 
Lucca della Robbia's relief, representing the 150th 
Psalm, is one of his most life-like and graceful 
compositions; his children, youths and maidens 
sing and dance, and play musical instruments, 
with wonderfully joyous, spirited activity. Over a 
doorway of the corridor is Michael Angelo's Mask 
of a Satyr, chiselled when he was but fifteen years 
old, the work that attracted Medicean patronage. 

The gems of the Ufnzi are in the Tribune. Our 
first glance fell upon the glorious Madonna del Car- 
dellino of Raphael. This is a full sweet canticle of 
spiritual beauty. The small Baptist, child of grace 
and preparation, holds up a tiny fluttering bird, a 
type of the world, to the Infinite, All-loving Father 



316 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

in the Christ Child, whose mission is signified in 
the gesture of the baby hand, tender, brooding, pro- 
tecting, as if to say, "Not one of these shall fall." 
Mary, Virgin mother, is supremely beautiful, a soft 
glow in the deep, tender eyes, and in the face a 
shining that might be a recognition of the divineness 
in the Child-Presence. She holds a book, and may 
have read, " And He shall grow in wisdom and in 
strength, to fulfil all order and righteousness." "The 
Flight into Egypt," has the lovely, veil-like trans- 
parency, the color and light and shadow, all woven 
together, peculiar to Correggio's style. The move- 
ment is melodic, a free play of brightness and dark- 
ness and palpitating life. The individual figures are 
miracles of loveliness, their rosiness is like delicate 
pearl-shell tints; while the landscape has the breadth, 
freedom and grace of Nature, with fidelity of form 
and color. Before Titian's Venuses there was a group 
of visitors evidently divided in opinion; we were 
compelled to hear enough of the prominent dis- 
courser's talk to know that it was the old, so-called 
aesthetic harangue; the beauty, the art-inspiration, 
the mastership of genius, in which literalness, digni- 
ty and modesty are to be forgotten. The treasures 
of the Tribune are not seen to advantage because 
of the confined space and imperfect light. 

Outside, near the door of the Tribune, we came 



PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 317 

upon Fra Angelico's Grand Tabernacle. The center 
piece is a Madonna with a frame-work of angels 
playing on musical instruments; the panels repre- 
sent St. Mark and St. John the Baptist. Some one 
has said that Fra Angelico's messages could have 
been conveyed by lute or harp quite as well as by 
form, poses, and color. Certainly in his angel faces 
are written the scores of heavenly strains — in mystic 
depths of eyes, broad brows, and radiant halos, — but 
his visions, whether of angels, saints or Madonnas, 
need warm gold backgrounds, soft tints of rose or 
violet, or browns, olives, and saffron, to fold and 
float, and floods of pure light. We had already 
seen his Coronation of the Virgin in the Hall of 
Ancient Masters. In this picture one hears the 
"lute and viol" above all other harmonies, the per- 
ceptible thronging — the coming together of the High 
Court of Heaven. The Madonna bending humbly to 
receive the crown is very lovely, as are also the 
groups of attending angels; however, it is not love- 
liness, but the glory of radiance that is the character- 
istic feature of the Coronation. The colors are pure, 
each distinct in hue and tone, and of great brilliancy, 
and they harmonize perfectly in the general effect 
of a flood of brightness. 

It is perhaps the knowledge that the study of 
collections promises quite as much as the entertain- 



318 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

ment to be derived from one or many pictures that 
makes one willing to spend entire days in galleries. 
Great as may be the desire for such knowledge, or 
the enthusiasm in pursuit of it, there is no escaping 
the consequent fatigue of body and mind, and if one 
is w r ise he will vary his " days in galleries " with 
excursions into the country — to Fiesole, or San Mi- 
niato, or Bellosguardo and Val d'Emo; — happy the 
one who may go to Vallombrosa ! 

For Fiesole, we took the road along the banks of 
the Mugello to the foot of the hill, and climbed thence 
between high walls hung with vines and shrubs, 
blooming and odorous, to St. Dominico, where Fra 
Angelico lived. Higher, we lingered occasionally in 
the shadow of a cypress tree to look down into the 
valley of the Arno, noting the generous way it opens 
into vistas and leads into varying remotenesses, the 
lovely mountain slopes, their tints deepened here and 
there by cloud shadows, and the be-pinnacled and 
be-cupolaed city drowned in a flood of yellow sunlight. 
In the little square before the Cathedral sat women 
braiding Tuscan straw. They were pleasing and sub- 
stantial pieces of picturesqueness, sun-steeped bronze 
complexions, eyes black and brilliant, blue and white 
and red in costumes, and the golden braids falling 
through active fingers into piles of folds or links. 
Our advent brought the alert to their feet, for the 



PALAZZOS VECCHIO, UFFIZI, AND FIESOLE. 319 

forestieri must needs buy, " only forty cents a bunch," 
twelve yards. The Cathedral is old, but contains lit- 
tle of interest after the tomb of Bishop Salutati. It 
is rich only in the lurking shadows of a crowded 
duskiness, and an atmosphere in which floats historic 
aroma precious to the Church. In a garden full 
of flowers we found the ruins of a Roman amphi- 
theatre, and in the subterranean passages wild animals, 
the gamin of the town. On the north side of the 
brow of the hill are interesting remains of fortifica- 
tions of Cyclopean reputation, — Etruscan remains. 

Following the lead of a stony path on the side 
opposite the Cathedral, we reached the apex of the 
mountain, and were admitted to the gardens of 
the Franciscan Convent. It is a wonder how the 
delightfully romantic tangled steeps keep their po- 
sition, why they do not of their own weight neces- 
sarily slip down into the dusky gorge below. From 
the Convent terrace is the famous view, — celebrated 
in song by Ariosto, and gorgeously word-painted by 
Ruskin. The latter makes the peaks of Carrara "toss 
themselves against the western distance, and clouds 
burn above the Pisan sea." 

Returning, a little detour took us to the Villa 
where Landor passed many years of his life, and 
through the "Valley of illustrious memory" watered 
by the Affrico and Mensola. 



XXVIII. 

THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTO'S TOWER, SAN MARCO 

AND SAN LORENZO. 

One day we wandered down to the riverside, 
through the street where Romola lived and Bratti 
trafficked. Between Ponte Vecchio and Ponte Trinita 
we found Local color, so-called, not common in Flor- 
ence, — ancient tumble-down buildings, scrolled hinges 
hanging loosely in door-ways, courtyard lamp-irons 
ready to drop from their sockets, and foundations 
cracked and mouldy. To rickety '-stairways" were 
moored "flats," or rafts, filled with fruit, vegetables 
and market women. A yellow light enriched by 
some atmospheric accident converted battered and 
disjointed shabbiness into charming picturesqueness, 
and the Arno so lazily beating at the huge founda- 
tions, seemed a golden river, a veritable Golconda. 

Afterward we continued our way into the heart 
of " Old Florence," or the square of San Martino, 
encountering signs and meanings in quaint irregular 
walls, sculpture filled niches, and elaborate designs 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 321 

of palaces and churches, and that something in the. 
air of Florence that might be defined an assertive 
consciousness of mighty men and deeds. Near the 
Badia we found a simple doorway bearing the in- 
scription, " Qui Nacque il Divino Poet." Opposite is 
the site of Casa Portinari, where on a certain May- 
day Dante first saw Beatrice. 

The streets of Florence are lively, not too crowded, 
and have a sympathetic aspect, the houses pressing 
one another in friendly fashion. Perhaps, individu- 
ally considered, the buildings have a certain sternness 
of expression, the effect of rough-hewn basements, 
great iron-barred windows, and unusual tallness. In 
springtime the streets are especially delightful, put- 
ting on a sort of bright amiability in the profusion 
of flowers seen everywhere, the fresh green above 
garden walls, and the renewed attractiveness of shops, 
particularly of those of prints and mosaics. The vistas 
stretch away into warm shadow, that of a church, 
palace, or hillside; a pure azure sky glows above 
open squares, and the genial Tuscan sunshine lures 
one into ready enjoyment of entertainments either 
of Nature or Art. 

Florentine interest centers in the great square 
of the Cathedral, or rather in its three Art-won- 
ders, the Cathedral, Giotto's Campanile, and the 
noted bronze doors of the Baptistery. The Cathe- 



322 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

dral is a monument of what originality in combi- 
nations may accomplish, having a clear individual 
physiognomy of its own, in spite of multitudinous 

forms and mixed styles. Points and angles, swells 
and oblongs, and circles and octagons, serve happy 
aptitudes of antique Greek and Roman architect- 
ure quite as well as modern Gothic and Italian, or 
unique Byzantine and graceful Oriental, all of 
which it would seem were used as models by the 
different designers. The exterior is panelled with 
precious marbles which give a light cheerful tone 
to its mountain-like hugeness, and all available 
places are rilled with sculptures — foilings, ara- 
besques and statues. But the marvel before which 
all others are as nothing is Brunelleschi's dome. 
Like some loftiest Alpine peak, it lifts itself, with 
•ral lesser ones as accompaniments, quite into 
celestial heights. A cross, the emblem of man's sal- 
vation, rising above the pointed lantern, glitters 
in the sunlight — the topmost jewel of the imperial 
crown. It strikes the key-note of the grand sym- 
phony conceived, scaled and unfolded in the mag- 
nificent structure — the "All glory to Him who cre- 
ated, sustains and saves us"! 

The interior is somewhat bare, but it has the 
grandeur of uninterrupted immensity. There is lit- 
tle light from without, and no illuminating color 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 323 

within except that which comes from the narrow 
stained-glass windows; thus its tone, a uniform 
gray, is monotonous, but refreshing to one seek- 
ing refuge from the heat and dazzle of the street. 
Its vastness and impressiveness is forcibly realized 
if one stroll through it at the quiet hour of sunset 
■ — the wide distances of nave and aisles, and chapels 
opening on either side, the hushed, solemn stillness 
that falls from the silence of grand sweeping arches, 
and the loftier vaulted spaces with their mystery of 
symbols, and story and gloom. The great bell rings 
the Ave Maria, and consecrated places fill with flit- 
ting shadows; a few devotees move on to the central 
shining of the high-altar, grown brighter with invad- 
ing duskiness ; a sense of separateness from the world 
increases, architectural proportions expand, and the 
hush and depth and beauty over-arching all, enlarge 
till we seem to touch the borders of the infinite. 

The memory of one teacher and prophet remains 
indissolubly associated with the Cathedral. One 
pictures the vast nave filled with Tuscan faces, all 
upturned to the small circular pulpit beneath the 
dome. There stands the strong -featured, dark- 
haired preacher from San Marco, his arms crossed 
upon his breast. His clear-sighted, penetrating 
glance sweeps the crowd as if it would seek out 
each individual soul, and with impassioned voice, 



324 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

"veloce e infiammativo" he thunders forth anathe- 
mas: "Kepent and forsake your sins, for the day of 
vengeance is at hand" ; or breaks out in tender, pas- 
sionate appeals, "0 Florence, chosen city in a chosen 
land! do justice, love mercy, put away uncleanness, 
that the spirit of truth and holiness may fill you, 
and breathe through your streets and habitations!" 
Giotto's wonderful tower is a strong square pile, 
two hundred and fifty feet high; not reaching the 
limit of the builder's aspiration, for he intended that 
a spire of thirty feet should surmount the present 
structure. Its surface is broken by mouldings and 
cornices into five stories, each glowing with panels of 
bright colored marbles, set round with medallions 
and other decorative frame-works. The pointed- 
arched windows are of exquisite design and work- 
manship, the larger and topmost being divided by 
light, ornamented pillars. Foilings and tracings, 
cornices and columns, bas-reliefs and statues, are all 
marvellously elegant; the last have the force, def- 
initeness of expression, and suggestions of movement 
that distinguished Giotto in sculpture. The tower as 
a whole is the symbolized utterance of the principal 
epochs of the civilization of his day rhymed into har- 
mony. For us it is a thing of beauty and perfection, 
seen at dawn or midday, by twilights or moonlights, 
all gemmed in sunshine, all white in shadow. As an 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 325 

expression of Christian, catholic faith it is a sweet, 
musical all-hail to her who is called "Blessed among 
women." 

We never looked into the Baptistery without en- 
countering a Christening party. All children born 
in Florence of Roman Catholic parentage are brought 
to its font to be baptized. An Italian baby wrapped 
in the customary swaddling gear is not an attractive 
object, looking more like a little mummy than a real, 
live baby, nor are priest and acolyte in dirty white 
gowns trimmed with cotton lace, mumbling prayers, 
drawling out amens and sleepily swinging a censer, 
interesting accessories. Therefore we allowed the 
right of preoccupancy to be a prevention of search 
among the antiquities of the Baptistery, and it must 
be confessed that for once local dirt, shabbiness, and 
the sickly odor of damp, mouldy walls were an 
annoyance to us. But we could study the great 
doors without entering the inner precincts. The sub- 
ject of the north door, one of Ghiberti's, is the story 
of Our Lord from the Annunciation to the Descent 
of the Holy Ghost. All is told calmly, without the 
aid of dramatic vehemence or pantomimic super- 
fluities. There is delightful freshness, simplicity and 
earnestness in the various composition, and wonder- 
ful harmony in the work considered as a whole. In 
the execution of details, the figures, architectural 



326 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

forms, and landscapes, Greek art seems to have blos- 
somed anew in brilliancy and perfection. 
1 The subjects of the eastern door, also Ghiberti's, are 
taken from the Old Testament, beginning with the 
creation of Adam and Eve, and ending with the visit 
of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon. In this work the 
artist attempted that greater breadth of landscape, 
and grouping of figures, in varying perspective dis- 
tances, that obtained for him the distinction of, "a 
painter in bronze." His delicate taste, suavity in 
lines, and smoothness and completeness of finish, are 
due, in great part no doubt, to his long apprentice- 
ship as a goldsmith. We are told that he was a 
devotee to Greek art; if so, he saved himself from 
becoming an imitator by remaining Christian in 
thought and expression; we hardly mistake one 
of his soldiers for a youthful Alcibiades, nor his wo- 
men for Pagan divinities. 

Andrea Pisano's doors, removed from the eastern 
side to make place for Ghiberti's, now occupy the 
south side. They represent the Life of John the 
Baptist. This work, first in order of time by nearly 
a hundred years, fills out the story of the two Test- 
aments. There are twenty panels, the two finest 
being the Naming of the Child, and the Burial of 
St. John. In each of these, while there is simpli- 
city of means, there is beauty of drapery, grouping, 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 327 

and technical skill; and great purity of sentiment 
and depth of feeling is seen in the faces of Angels, 
Prophets and Evangelists. The frames, studies of 
fruit, foliage, and animals, were added by Ghiberti, 
when the doors were placed in their present position. 
Happily no cowled monk now smilingly interferes 
when a lady wishes to enter the sunny cloisters of 
San Marco, for state necessities have converted the 
Convent into a Museum. But the spirit of the Do- 
minican order still lingers within, in the St. Peter 
Martyr over one of the doorways, whose finger upon 
the lip suggests silence, the rule of the order. The 
reverent instinctively step lightly and speak in low 
tones, feeling that the place is sacred by right of 
the martyr feet that have trod its pavements and 
the great thoughts and daring deeds that have origi- 
nated within its walls. In the cell occupied by 
Savonarola when he was prior of the Convent, we 
saw his rosary, wooden crucifix, and a desk built in 
imitation of the one used by him. In the desk was 
a manuscript copy of several of his sermons, and 
his treatise on the "Trial by Fire." We are told 
that it was the desire of Savonarola to make his 
Convent a sanctuary of Art, recognizing it when 
consecrated to religious purposes as a power to up- 
hold faith and quicken devotion. He once said that he 
felt himself transported into the world of the blessed 



328 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

when be looked upon the angels and saints in Fra An- 
gelica's pictures. The joy he experienced was to his 
prophetic soul a foretaste of the heavenly joys hoped 
for and promised to the faithful as their reward. 

In the Chapter House is Beato Angelico's cele- 
brated Crucifixion, one of his most studied and fin- 
ished works. The central figure is the Crucified; 
around are groups of saints, doctors and fathers of 
the Church; near are St. Mark and St. John aild 
the Maries, the Virgin Mother swooning in accor- 
dance with tradition. There is a framework of 
prophets and sibyls, and beneath is St. Dominic, 
the founder of the order. The details are all signi- 
ficant, and the elaboration is so varied, beautiful 
and comprehensive, that we gaze with wonder, ex- 
periencing something of the ecstacy depicted in the 
faces «f SS. Benedict and Bernard. Regarded as a 
sincere presentment of the Frate's faith and purposes, 
it refutes the assertion that he worked merely to 
give expression to his own feelings. It is very hu- 
manly pathetic and is intended to excite emotions 
of deepest, tenderest pity. We feel that the artist 
must have loved much, that he concentrated in his 
own soul the yearnings of a large, seeking spiritual 
life, and that he strove by every accessory means 
to bring the beholder into conscious sympathy with 
the sufferings of Christ as his Redeemer. 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTO'S TOWER. 329 

The Kefectory is made rich by Ghirlandaio's Last 
Supper. Two pictures could hardly be stronger con- 
trasts of purposes and effects. Ghirlandaio's seems 
a brilliant revel of the imagination, an array of color 
and costumes, handsome faces and superb groupings, 
a pictorial vision gorgeous and irresponsible. He 
forgets, and makes us forget, that Christ and His dis- 
ciples were accustomed to the issues of poverty. 
Crimson mantles, gold embroidery, and the sumpt- 
uous picturesqueness of fruit-laden orange trees, 
with birds of bright plumage, a paradise or peacock, 
are pleasant to the eye, and belonged to the times 
of the artist, perhaps to his surroundings, but surely 
not to the actual truth of the Last Supper, neither 
to its example .nor its significance. 

Early one morning we sought out the house of Mi- 
chael Angelo, kept in repair, and its showing made 
a source of revenue to a descendant of the nephew Leo- 
nardo, to whom he addressed occasional letters. We 
saw the slippers, table and crutches said to have once 
belonged to Michael Angelo, also the tiny study, 
some autographs, and a portrait of Vittoria Colonna. 

But our love and admiration for the greatest of 
all masters prefers such relics as may be seen in 
the Sagrestia Nuova of San Lorenzo, the statues of 
the Medici, Lorenzo and Giuliano, and the recumbent 
figures at their feet. Neither statue is. to be con- 



330 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

sidered as representative in portraiture or character; 
not till 1875 was it certain for which of the two 
each statue was intended. The one above Giuliano's 
tomb is the finer; the cheek rests on the left hand, 
and the elbow upon a casket held on the left knee, 
the projecting helmet casting a deep shadow across 
the face. It is the embodiment of pensive, brooding, 
all-absorbed contemplation, and might be Michael 
Angelo himself, or any other earnest thinker striv- 
ing to solve the great problems of the age. 

The four figures, Night and Day, Twilight and 
Dawn, seem colossal in the sense of being dispro- 
portioned to earthly sentiments. They deal with 
the mysteries of the borderlands of sleeping and 
waking, or of death and the life hereafter, represent- 
ing the most exalted ideas whether of prophecies or 
fulfilments; they are sorrow and suffering, thought 
and action, strength and faith, crystallized in the 
eternity of marble. Taken in their entireness they 
express, so to say, the passion of the artist, the 
burden of his destiny, and make manifest the bound- 
less self-supplying sources from which he drew r his 
creations, —uncommon experiences, a never wearied 
imagination, and superhuman will and energy tc 
work out and combine. 

Michael Angelo had seen his beloved city van- 
quished, its freedom destroyed, and a price set on 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 331 

his own head by Clement VII. He concealed him- 
self in the bell-tower of San Nicoli while they 
searched his house. The Pope finally offered him 
liberty and the continuance of his former commis- 
sions. Shutting himself up in San Lorenzo, he 
wrought out of the weariness, exhaustion and long- 
ings of his own soul the figure of Night, and wrote 
on the pedestal, " Sleep is sweet, and yet more sweet 
is it to be of stone while misery and wrong endure. 
Not to see, not to feel is my joy. So wake me not! " 
Kegarded in relation to his own experiences, the 
Day seems born of a reaction from despondency, a 
renewal of hope and a strengthening of determina- 
tion. With Titanic efforts the figure is about to lift 
itself from the sarcophagus to encounter the inevi- 
table conditions of life. We fancy that we perceive 
what is meant by forms and thoughts held in the 
unchiselled marble, for, although unfinished, the Day 
has a grand and powerful impersonation. In the 
undefined features there is individuality, and from 
the vague depressions below the brow a keen up- 
ward glance. The other two figures, Twilight and 
Dawn, have, evidently a higher, more spiritual signi- 
ficance, typify death and the resurrection, or some- 
thing beyond and more unseizable. The Dawn is 
much the finer of the two; the act of waking is 
manifest in every thing, — the half-rising posture, the 



332 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

outstretched arm, the advanced foot, and the hand 
reaching backward to the veil. 

' One of the most interesting churches in Florence 
is Santa Croce. It is a fine example of Arnolfo's re- 
markable skill in producing simple grandeur by long 
lines and clear spaces. The nave is divided into 
seven arches supported by octagonal columns; be- 
tween the brackets of the clerestory are handsome 
stained-glass windows; its pulpit of white Seravezza 
marble is the most beautiful one known ; and the soft 
Saracenic tints of former times have been recently re- 
stored to roof beams. It is not, however, for its beau- 
ty or its grandeur that Santa Croce is noted, but for 
the fact that it is the burial-place of so many of It- 
aly's illustrious dead — Galileo, Cherubini, Macchiavelli, 
Alfieri, Marsuppini, Michael Angelo and others. 
Dante sleeps at Eavenna, but he has a monument in 
the church, and one in the square of Santa Croce; 
which most dishonors his memory it would be diffi- 
cult to decide, both are so intolerably ugly. 

Our last day in Florence was made notable by an 
excursion outside Porta Eomana. We went first to 
the hill of Arcetri, " where Galileo stood at night to 
take the vision of the stars," and whither Milton came 
as his guest in 1638. The old Tower remains quite 
unharmed; from its chinks hung ivy leaves, and at 
its base clustered white stars of Bethlehem, scarlet 



THE CATHEDRAL. GIOTTo's TOWER. 333 

tulips and poppies, while over the grassy slopes were 
scattered flowers of more quiet garden-ways. Fol- 
lowing the high road, the air full of the fragrance 
of almond and peach trees in blossom, we reached 
Certosa of Val d'Emo. The convent stands on an 
eminence covered with cypress- trees, amid which 
its white walls appear like opal against mala- 
chite. Out of the great pillared cloister open the cells 
that were once the dwellings of the fathers; from the 
little loggie they had the loveliest view in the world. 
The church is especially rich in varied picturesque 
details of architecture, sculpture, and frescos, all that 
the most ardent imagination could demand under the 
cover of devotion. The tombs of the Accaiuoli fam- 
ily, founders of the convent, are in the chapels of the 
Crypt. As monuments they deserve attention, be- 
ing remarkable for their life-look and inimitable char- 
acterization, — particularly that of the grim old bishop 
lying on the pavement, also that of Leonardo Buona- 
fede, who in spite of his ugliness we know was a very 
genial old man. From Certosa we proceeded to Bel- 
losguardo, the Monte Beni of Hawthorne's "Marble 
Faun," and where most of the romance was written. 
The views from the summit of the hill beggar de- 
scription ; — 

" we found it hard 

Gazing upon the earth and heavens, to make 
A choice of beauty." 



XXIX. 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 



From Florence to Pistoia we had the radiant pic- 
tnresqueness of the Tuscan hills, and waysides of rus- 
tic field life, women in broad-brimmed hats at the 
rudest work, and young girls bearing on their heads 
bundles of grass bright with intermingled blossoms. 
Occasionally we caught glimpses of habitations bur- 
rowed out of the relics of a by-gone life — some ruin 
with remnants of battlements and machicolations, 
the doorways hung round with ears of corn and 
vines. 

Ascending from Pistoia, the road pierces the Ap- 
ennines by a series of tunnels, rushes past beds of 
boulders, and along high bastions, — crossing the 

gorges by trellises and airy bridges, and finally de- 
scends to wooded slopes, a pleasant valley, and Bo- 
logna. The mountain barrier that separates southern 
from northern Italy once passed, the traveller recog- 
nizes that he has bid adieu to the land of olives, or- 
anges, and cypress trees. 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 335 

To journey by rail from Bologna, through Mo- 
dena, Parma, and Piacenza, to Milan, occupies about 
five hours. So luxuriant and so beautiful is the coun- 
try, it may well be called, " II giardina del mondo.' 
The meadows, cut by small streamlets, are of rare 
shapes, dotted with clumps of shrubbery enveloped 
in net-works of vines, while here and there long lines 
of trees regularly set out stretch across the levels, 
wreathed, garlanded and crowned, looking like bands 
of fairies starting forth for a revel ; and the color over 
all, as we saw it, was azure just warming into gold. 
At Lodi, near Piacenza, we were reminded of the cap- 
ture of the Bridge of Lodi by Napoleon and Berthier, 
it being defended by seven thousand Austrian s. 

We reached Milan on the evening of a Festa, when 
all the streets were gay; and the Galleria Vittorio 
Emanuel was brilliant with thousands of gaslights, 
and throngs of people in holiday attire. The glass 
dome looked like an arch of concentrated light — a 
rounded mount of crystallized gorgeousness. Later in 
the evening as we stumbled into by-ways and over 
rough pavements to our hotel, we wondered why the 
Milanese did not improve the opportunity afforded 
them when Frederic Barbarossa destroyed every house 
in the city, and rebuild with some fair show of design 
in " lay-out," and a little regard for foot-travellers in 
the make-up of streets. 



336 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Nowhere in Italy does modernness tread so ruth- 
lessly upon the past as in Milan. Everybody is busy, 
and with an earnestness that might do credit to a 
New England town. In the old Loggia where theolo- 
gians used to dispute, sit the Councils of the Cham- 
ber of Commerce, and the once comparatively quiet 
Piazza dei Mercanti has become the noisiest of Ex- 
changes. In the shops of the Arcades, perhaps as fine 
as any in the world, one finds every conceivable arti- 
cle of use, and of ornament. Shopping in Milan is 
not the dreaded thing it is elsewhere, but an agree- 
able pastime, for one need not traverse streets, or 
be exposed to wind and weather, having once been 
set down at the Arcades. 

The Cathedral of Milan is one of the glories of It- 
aly, say the critics what they may. It is a splendid 
and impressive embodiment of her faith in herself, her 
courage and her patience. Tier by tier, it lifts in 
solemn grandeur, its mysteries of gray and dazzle of 
whiteness, its sustained massiveness of entirety and 
fairy-like lightness of detail. From sculptured base 
to gilded cross, it is pillared, bestatued and pinnacled ; 
the stories of saints, kings and heroes, are written in 
wonderful lines, fine forms, and miracles of carv- 
ing. In the early morning we walked around it, 
gazing with ever-increasing admiration, and after- 
ward we climbed to the roof. Here, Art seems to 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 337 

have poured out in creative profusion the accumu- 
lated burden of centuries of silent thought; we see 
crystallized in marble fruit and flowers, arches and 
minarets, and the noble forms of those who were once 
powers upon the earth, — each a new revelation, beau- 
tiful, grand, and complete. But from the platform of 
the cupola, what a view! The Lombardy plains full 
of battle-fields, the level of lovely vegetation dotted 
with white walls and spires like an emerald sea stud- 
ded with sails; and across, the Alps, with the dark 
forms of their great passes, and their everlasting 
snows, Mont Blanc shining aloft. 

Entering by the grand portal later in the day, 
but while the sun was yet above the horizon, we 
strolled toward the great stained windows of the east. 
As we approached the huge choir mass, the sun, 
streaming in through a rose window over the portal, • 
touched the gilded crucifix suspended from the 
vaulted ceiling; it became warm molten gold, and 
the sentiment of that greatest of tragedies seemed 
resting over all, illuminating with its consummated 
glories the dim solitude of aisles, chapels and altars. 
Sitting on the steps of the choir, we watched the 
purple and crimson, the amber, amethyst and gold, 
fade out of the window, and felt the great solemn 
stillness, with its tremulous questions and meanings, 
gather about and enfold us. The first wave of emo- 



338 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

tion having past, I turned to my companions, but 
they had averted their faces. We went back, down 
the vast aisle, through the gathering darkness, and 
out into the Square, carrying with us something of 
Milan Cathedral that will not fade. 

The exhibition of the mummified relics of St. Charles 
Borromeo, which we witnessed at another time, is 
grotesquely at variance with the good bishop's senti- 
ments while on earth. We had just seen his Missal 
with the motto "Humilitas" among the treasures 
of the Biblioteca Ambrosiana. The chapel dedicated 
to him is a small octagonal apartment in the Crypt 
of the church; the walls in the inside are massive 
silver bas-reliefs; the eight angles are occupied by 
caryatides; and above the altar there is a cross of 
emeralds and diamonds, the gift of Maria Theresa 
of Austria. The sacristan, by means of a crank, re- 
moves the bronze lid of the shrine, revealing the 
shrivelled form of the saint, arrayed in episcopal 
robes, with mitre and gold staff, lying within a coffin 
of plate glass. On the coffin is the cipher of Philip 
IV. of Spain, the donor. The gold crown was pre- 
sented by the Elector of Bavaria, and is of wonderful 
workmanship, being wrought by none other than 
that master goldsmith, Benvenuto Cellini. Nothing 
can be more gorgeous, considered as a blaze of 
jewellery, than the glowing, twinkling splendor of 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 339 

rubies, emeralds, diamonds and sapphires, laid as 
votive offerings upon the shrine of one who all his 
life preached humility. The sacristan receives five 
francs for the exhibitory performance. Viewed in 
the light of Romanism, the end justifies the means, 
the patron saint is kept in mind and a goodly rev- 
enue obtained for immediate church needs. 

A chain of beautiful and historic cities connects 
Milan with Venice; Bergamo, Verona, Vicenza, and 
Padua. At Verona we parted with some agreeable 
English people whose companionship had added to 
the interest of the last few days. The memory of 
Milan and its Cathedral will always recall the intel- 
ligent and congenial elders, and we shall not be 
liable to forget the face of the beautiful daughter. 
We continued our seaward pathway to the spell- 
bound city of the Adriatic, but at Mestre there was 
a long stop; they say there always is. Once again 
en route precursive curiosity was alert for a first 
glimpse of lagoon or spire. Already the shadows 
were lengthening, but across soft glowing distances, 
we soon saw a liquid level out of which rose white 
towers and gilded domes. The train rumbled over 
the great bridge, or marble causeway, two miles in 
length, and into the station. "Barca, signore ! Barca, 
signora ! " Yes, we will have a barca ; it will do 
better than a cab in a city where the streets are 



340 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. 

canals. It took a long time to identify, and get 
luggage through the hands of Custom -House officials, 
so that it was quite dark when we entered the many- 
seated gondola, and were pushed away from the 
noise and bustle of the station out into the broad 
waters of the Grand Canal. We were a mixed com- 
pany, French, Germans, Italians and Americans, but 
there was little talking. Was it anxiety or home- 
sickness, or a little of both that so tangled my per- 
ceptions that I was speechless ? On and on we 
glided, down the dark waterway walled in by tall 
palaces, the minutes seeming to grow longer and 
the darkness blacker, the silence broken only by 
dipping oars, and the peculiar cry of the gondolier, 
" stall preme" or "seiar" as the case might be. Occa- 
sionally a lamp threw a crimson flame into the 
water, and we could see in the glimmering duskiness 
all sorts of fantastic things. At last we touched at 
a broad stairway between two great lamps, and by 
an obliging porter were admitted to our hotel. Later 
we stepped out upon the balcony of our apartments; 
listened to the sound of bells coming from oyer the 
lagoons; descried in the distance white sails looking 
like white-robed sentinels. A gondola passed below, 
lighted by a " star " and a silyer gleam at the dip 
of the oar, and low and sweet was the song of those 
within. All was strangely noyel and bewildering; a 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 341 

deep sense of the mysterious and peerless beauty of 
Venice took possession of us, a fascination that once 
having seized one never releases its hold. 

Morning revealed that directly opposite us, across 
the Grand Canal, was the church of Maria della 
Salute, and beyond a broader stretch of water; at 
our left, San Giorgio Maggiore, — one of the most 
conspicuous objects, we afterward learned, in all dis- 
tant views of the city. J. J. Jarvis begins a book 
with what he saw in Maria della Salute, so we 
ventured to begin there a day of sight seeing. To 
tourists the church is a definitely remembered struct- 
ure, because of its prominent position (over-looking 
as it does the finest breadth of the Grand Canal), 
the picturesque effect of its massive dome and two 
bell-towers which group so well with its stately and 
untortured grace, and the royally generous breadth 
of marble frontage and stairway by which it is ap- 
proached. Our gondola had but touched the steps, 
when a crab-catcher, the fellow who holds fast (or 
loose) your gondola, presented himself. Certainly 
the native Venetian has still an eye for color; this 
unmitigated scamp was as picturesque as possible; 
a tattered red cap pulled down close to a pair of 
magnificent eyes, nether garments lacking element- 
ary coherence, but brave in variety of hues, and 
pedal extremities encased in pointed, green morocco 



342 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. 

buskins, all harmonized by the rich bronze of his 
complexion and a sort of inspiration of grace and 
impishness that seemed to entirely possess him. 

But our purpose was to see the church; within, 
it is not particularly fine. There are some pillars 
brought from the amphitheatre of Polo, and a great 
silver lamp given by the city in memory of the 
Madonna's goodness during the cholera visitation of 
1849. The noted marble group of the high altar, 
seemed to us too theatrical to be either beautiful or 
interesting. On the ceiling of the sacristy is Titian's 
Death of Abel, and on the wall is Tintoretto's Mar- 
riage in Cana. Both are ill placed for light, and 
are far above the spectator; only those willing to 
sacrifice personal comfort for the purpose, can obtain 
sufficient knowledge of them to have any idea of 
their respective merits. 

Returning to our gondola, we drifted down, past the 
Custom-House, out of the broad opening of the canal 7 
and along a silver-gray line of riva till we reached the 
great white marble landing of the Piazzetta. The en- 
trance to the Piazzetta is guarded by two granite col- 
umns, one surmounted by the Lion of St. Mark, and the 
other bv a statue of St, Theodore. St. Mark's leonine 
representative is blind, its eyes having disappeared. 
Venetians say, it wept its eyes out during the Aus- 
trian rule. The real fact is, I believe, that the eves, 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 343 

being fine agates, were picked out by Napoleon's 
soldiers, at the time the lion was carried to Paris 
with the bronze horses of St. Mark. Our object in 
coming to the Piazzetta was the view from the top 
of the Campanile. The ascent is easy, being made 
by a series of inclined planes, up which, possibly, one 
might "ride a horse," if he chose. Arrived at the 
top and stepping out upon the platform, we felt 
ourselves unstable, as if poised in air, with bewil- 
dering, unfathomable depths of blue above, and un- 
fathomable depths of gray below. The level of per- 
ceptive faculties being restored, we saw, distinctly 
outlined, eighty islands with their campos, piled-up 
palaces, and gilded domes, the steely shine of the 
length of the reversed "S" sweep of the Grand Canal, 
spanned by the Rialto, and two modern bridges, and 
the long glittering railway crossing, by which the 
city comrades with the mainland. To the right, over 
the cemetery island of San Michele, between low 
cloud pennons, shone the Campanile of Murano, be- 
yond rose the clustered purple Arquan hills, while 
the horizon was bounded by the irregular blue of 
distant mountain ranges, tipped with light or snow. 
In the foreground of the busy, bustling Pdva dei Schi- 
avona gondolas* and flats covered with bright awn- 
ings flitted to and fro; along the quays of the 
Guidecca were moored rafts loaded with wood from 



344 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Dalmatia; and lighter barks, dipping their w.hite 
wings before a breeze, followed, coming and going, 
the dark line of pile-heads that marks their proper 
course. Off the Public Gardens were anchored larger 
crafts, merchantmen and a ship of war, flying the 
colors of many nations. From one, the war-ship, 
floated the stars and stripes — the red, white and blue 
dear to American hearts; we — the gentlemen — in- 
stinctively took off hats; and there above the old 
Venetian lion hailed the Columbia of our newer, live 
Republic. Now the waters seemed to rise; and 
through the three great portals, Lido, Tre Ponti and 
Malamocco, came that mightiest of wonders, one that 
awes all who look upon it, — the flood-tide of the 
Adriatic. 

Encircling waters, the fitly-chosen mirror of Yen- 
ice, reflect all her charms, her forms and hues, her 
regal grace and state. Sculptured palaces look down 
upon their shadows, the gondolier with his oar bends 
toward his mate, and statued columns and white pin- 
nacles nod to those below. The surface of the mir- 
ror-like water trembles with every change of light; 
one moment it is broken by rippling rainbow glory, 
the next by streams of flame plunged into its depths, 
and now by the sparkling, splashing^ keels of fisher- 
men's boats. Take crimson and sapphire, rose and 
sea-green, purple and pearl-grays, mix with the flat- 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 345 

tery of a golden atmosphere and a final triumph of 
sunset over all, and you will have the real Venetian 
color; at least, so we thought on the first morning 
we spent in the Academy. There we found Titians, 
Veroneses, Tintorettos, Palma Vecchios and Bonifazios. 
A picture by Bonifazio, Lazarus and the Kich 
Man, seemed to us quite as rich and intense in color 
as any of Titian's. Everything — architecture, appoint- 
ments of furniture and table, stuffs of costumes and 
paraphernalia — is as luxurious as possible; and in 
individual characterization, and the work-out of the 
tout-ensemble, there is audacious frankness, for one 
perceives at once that the " poor man " is a pretext 
rather than a cause or inspiration. Titian's early 
sunstruck groups are less plentiful in Venice than 
elsewhere; later, he was designated as the "Master 
who in Art kept the middle path of perfection." One 
of his most interesting works, The Assumption, is 
in the Academy. In the foreground is a group of 
apostles looking upward to the central figure, the 
Virgin, who, surrounded by angelic children, is borne 
up by clouds heavenward. Within the radiance of 
the opening heavens, is seen a crown held by an 
archangel, and within a further, deeper, more gold- 
en radiance the Father. From earth to heaven the 
whole movement is melodic, a grand chorus of light, 
color, and conscious joy. 



346 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

If Titian was the ik Master of Venetian painting,'' 
what would Vasari call Veronese, ^vitli his full 
bloom; dark arabesques revealed by gold back- 
grounds, balustrades, and arches through which 
one sees blue sky, and the opaline hues of clear 
water, and serene, grand figures that belong to su- 
perior races, the heads of sovereignties ! His Mar- 
riage of Can a and Supper in a Rich Man's House, 
both in the Academy, have these qualities, with 
added firmness of execution and that equable tran- 
quil harmony that runs through all his works. 

Tintoretto, the other great light of the so-called 
Venetian school can be known only in Venice, for 
his principal works are there. He deals with the 
splendor of quantity as did Michael Angelo, some 
of his canvases measuring seventy feet. Having 
seen his St. Mark Delivering a Slave from Impend- 
ing Death, one no longer wonders that by his con- 
temporaries he was called The Thunderbolt. It is 
more than Michael Angelesque in accessories of grand 
architecture, feats of foreshortening, and electric 
suddenness and fury of motion. The saint is in the 
act of descending head foremost from the sky; the 
slave, a superb figure, throbs with excess of life; 
dumb amazement strikes him and the spectators 
when they behold the axe shivered in the hands 
of the executioner. In the multitude of figures, 



FLORENCE TO VENICE. 347 

their costumes, poses, and expressions, he has dis- 
tributed those luminous half- shadows, or semi- 
opaquenesses, and brilliant dashes of color and 
action, by which he is, according to his theme, 
either tempestuous and tragic, or poetic and de- 
licious. 



XXX. 



ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 



One may walk if he cannot drive in Venice ; so we 
walked through a street not more than eight feet 
broad, crossed the San Moise bridge, and, with a 
motley crowd bound our way, reached that opening 
into light known as the Bocca di Piazza. Into the 
Piazza poured streams of sunshine, flooding its level 
of checkered stones, and making them look like gems 
set in gold. Before us stretched the sculptured and 
arcaded lines of the Procuratie, sumptuous palaces 
above, and below brilliant shops and cafes. Beyond, 
at the further side, rising out of a sea of stone, 
glittered the clustered pinnacles and great white 
domes of St. Mark's; its splendors of Oriental forms 
enriched with innumerable graftings from Saracenic, 
Roman, and Gothic, and a scintillating embroidery 
of hues of azure, porphyry, and jasper. Out of these, 
from a field shot with stars, looks the Winged Lion, 
erect and alert. On brackets over the central portal 



st. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 349 

stand the four bronze horses, — celebrated travellers. 
Augustus brought them to Rome, whence they were 
carried by Constantine to Constantinople. With 
Doge Dandolo they came to Venice about 1207. 
Afterward, on insistence, they accompanied Napo- 
leon I. to Paris, returning to Venice in 1815, and 
were given their former position on the facade of 
St. Mark's. Tradition says they are the work of 
Lysippus, and that they belonged originally to a 
group of equestrian statues of Macedonian chief- 
tains, who fell at Granicus. 

The interior of St. Mark's wins the heart at once; 
it appeals profoundly to the religious sentiment in 
the unmaterialized element of shadows, the cheer 
of occasional gleams of gold and fragments of pre- 
cious marble, like rays of hope, and the intensified 
effects of symbols acting as interpreters of the spirit- 
ual. There is a felt tenderness, a sort of friendly 
welcome in the low-hovering arches, gold starred 
domes and frescos of angelic groups, as if they 
would minister to the soul distressed; bring down 
to it the sweet peace of sins forgiven, or soothe 
with their twilight, softly descending and enfold- 
ing, the sorrows that irritate and oppress. Light 
from without enters through small apertures in 
cupolas, and through stained-glass windows, all so 
far away and above, that rays come wandering 



350 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

down into darkness like cloudlets of spray, or 
straying streamlets from mountain cascades. Can- 
dles and great silver lamps are kept burning, and 
these add a ghostly gleaming of flames to the dim 
daylight. The pavement, worn by the feet of pen- 
itent and priest, is of marble mosaics, in which 
lions and peacocks figure largely; it is as beauti- 
ful in hues as in designs. 

All discords in St. Mark's, whether of forms, dec- 
orations or tints, are harmonized in a prevailing tone, 
which at the first glance is purple, then seems to 
separate into interlaced red and gold. Domes are 
overspread with gold as backgrounds of innumerable 
mosaics, and shafts of columns, walls and pavement 
are. made of colored marbles, the red- veined pre- 
dominating. Language is inadequate to express 
the luxuriousness of materials, sculptures and jew- 
els, seen everywhere, but particularly that on al- 
tars; it is, however, an opulence that is not pro- 
longed into ostentation; it becomes rather a solemn 
preciousness and splendor, like that of the Pala d' 
Oro. 

A procession entered from the door of the Bap 
tistery; its intent was unintelligible to us, but no* 
the beauty of it as a spectacle. Gleams of sunlight 
from distant casements were caught by banner, gold 
mitre, or damask cope, and their dazzle borne on- 



st. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 351 

ward as the line of priests, acolytes and followers 
wound around among marble pillars, to the gemmed 
and torch-lighted splendors of the High Altar. A 
chant low and monotonous was heard, but whence 
it came none could discover. 

Quite impossible is it to transfer to paper any- 
thing that will represent the smallest substance of 
the Ducal Palace, and how much more impossible 
to represent anything of its spirit. Its history is the 
history of the Republic, its ducal dignities and 
imperial power. In architecture it is unique, over- 
leaping all conventional rules, Greek, Latin, or By- 
zantine. Nowhere have we seen its like in illi not- 
ability of invention, surprising richness of detail, 
and entirety of completion. There are two open 
colonnades, one resting upon the other; the ground 
one appears low and stumpy in consequence of the 
raising of the Piazza pavement. The second, lighter 
and much decorated, supports the walls of red and 
white marble intermixed, broken into irregularity 
by beautiful pointed windows, and surmounted by 
a cornice of net-work of foilings, pinnacles and 
spiracles. 

From the Piazza one enters by the Porta della 
Carta, the Paper Gate, so-named because in the 
vestibule within, the secretaries performed their 
functions. In the court are two famous well-heads, 



352 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

five feet in diameter and nearly as high, of most 
charming designs and elegantly wrought; they are 
of bronze and beneath are the cisterns of the pal- 
ace. The four facades facing the court glow with 
the large, free, rich treatment of the early Renais- 
sance, its bold reliefs, poetic arabesques and Hel- 
lenic statues. The moment of ascending, for the 
first time, the grand staircase of the Ducal Palace, 
must be a consciously marked era in one's life ; they 
are Rizzo's princely steps built for trains starred 
with pearls, embroidered dalmatics, the glitter of 
tiaras, and all the gorgeous and ceremonial pomps 
of state. At the top the Doges w r ere crowned, the 
mantle of ermine was put upon their shoulders, and 
the statutes by which they laid aside their individu- 
ality to become symbolical embodiments of the Re- 
public, were read to them. Half-way up we learned 
that it was an older stairway down which rolled the 
head of Marino Faliero ; we were quite willing to be- 
lieve it, and for the time tu forget both the tradi- 
tion of his execution on the spot, and Byron's trag- 
edy founded on the event. On either side, at the 
head of the staircase, are Sansovino's Mars and 
Neptune, colossal and imposing in their position; 
and beyond, open halls decorated by Sansovino and 
Giovanni Bellini. * 

AVithin the Palace, genius has centered all her 



ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 353 

energies to memorialize the city's triumphs and 
her independence, and make a representative apothe- 
osis of her power, wealth and magnificence. A*s- 
cending a second staircase, we come to a suite of 
halls, the very names of which are a chapter in 
history — the Ante Chamber of the Council of Ten, 
with the famous Bocca di Leone "through which 
secret accusations were handed to the Council," the 
Hall of Ambassadors, the Senate Hall, and the 
Chamber of the dreaded Council of Ten, the walls 
and sculpture ornaments by Palladio, Sansovino, and 
Vittoria, and the masterly frescos by Bonifazio, 
Pordenone, Veronese and Tintoretto. Near is the 
ascent leading to Prisons under the Leads, cells 
upon which "beat the sun unrelentingly, scorch- 
ing the brain till Reason fled, and the wild yell 
and wilder laugh burst on every side," — so wrote 
one imprisoned there in 1755. The Wells, the most 
dread prisons, and where political offenders were us- 
ually confined, are reached by a dark stairway near 
the Giant's Staircase. They are on the Rio side 
of the Palace and look oat upon it, not being be- 
neath the water-level as so frequently asserted; this 
information we took second-handed, having no desire 
to " put our feet upon the spot, our hands upon the 
guilty doors." We were content to see the famous 
Bridge of Sighs, which connects the Ducal Palace 



35 1 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

with the Criminal Prisons on the other side of the 
Rio Canal from the distance of our gondola. The 
Bridge was not built till the last of the sixteenth 
century, consequently cannot well be associated with 
romantic episodes of earlier dates. It is pronounced 
by distinguished authority a sentimental fraud, of 
which there are several in Venice as well as else- 
Avhere. Common criminals are the only pathetic 
figures that impart interest to it. Italians pity all 
knaves as soon as they are caught, hence the name 
of the Bridge. 

On the second floor of the Ducal Palace is the 
Library founded by a bequest from Petrarch. Its 
most munificent benefactor, however, was one Bes- 
sarion, though its greatest single treasure was the 
gift of a Grimani, viz., the Grimani Breviary, said to 
be the finest illuminated work known. The minia- 
tures were painted by Vander Meer, Mending, Da 
Messina and De Grand. From the Library anteroom 
one enters the Great Council Hall, the grand histori- 
cal apartment of the Palace. The walls are covered 
with pictures illustrating different phases of Venetian 
history, and above these, at the top, chronologically 
arranged, are the portraits of her seventy-two \^Oi, 
the space that should have been occupied by that of 
Marino Faliero being hung with a black curtain on 
which is the inscription, " Hie est Joeus Marxni Falethn 



st. mark's, the ducal palace, and toroello. 355 

decapitati pro criminibu8. n Of the ceiling decorations, 
Paul Veronese's Triumph of Venice is a feast for the 
eye; diversified with every creative facility and il- 
luminated with Venetian sunshine. The Bride of 
the Sea has yellow hair, bound in a knot at the back, 
a silken mantle falls from her shoulders, and from 
beneath it spreads out the satiny sheen of her ample 
robe. Haughty, yet gentle, in her radiant beauty 
she sits enthroned — Glory in the act of placing a 
crown upon her head — an acknowledged sovereign to 
whom Tritons offer pearls, and at whose feet wait 
Justice and Peace. Around her is a circle of other 
figures with draperies of floating gauze, and shim- 
mering, star-dotted silks; against hues of pale violet, 
azure and gold, presses the delicate rosiness of flesh, 
now in sunshine and now in shadow, all upborne on 
a mass of clouds. Just below the centre of the pic- 
ture is another group, a balustrade filled with Vene- 
tians of the actual times, clad in corresponding-time 
costumes of all that was splendid in material, — tissues 
of gold and of silver, brocades and velvets, the diaph- 
anous glitter of necklaces and armlets, and the real 
Venetian color, mother of pearl slashed with flames 
of sunset. Beneath, and in the foreground, is a third 
group, a restless crowd, women and children, hounds 
in the leash, captive Turks, the Lion of St. Mark, 
soldiers and prancing horses. The architecture, bal- 



356 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

conies and columns, is superb, according with the 
right of opulence and power; through its openings 
are seen great spaces of sea and sky, glowing with 
superabundant sunlight. 

On the wall back of the Ducal throne is Tinto- 
retto's Paradise, eighty feet long and twenty feet 
broad, with six hundred figures. The work is ex- 
ecuted in a positive and realistic manner, con- 
sidering the artist's poetic tendencies, and that the 
theme has a truly spiritual significance. When other 
Italian cities succumbed to the power of religious ex- 
citements, Venice maintained her equilibrium, keep- 
ing the church always under the control of the body 
politic, her ceremonies being regarded as only a part 
of the State's pomps and pageantries, thus, it is not so 
surprising to find Tintoretto's Paradise an adjunct of 
masked balls, and State ceremonials. The artist's 
characteristic energy of conception and distinctness 
of vision that instantly seized individual details and 
peculiar possibilities of situations, are apparent even 
in this vast stretch of surface, as is also his prefer- 
ence for the dramatic and tragic. Transgressors fly 
before the angel as before a tempest, although he is 
clothed with light and does not touch the ground. 
He casts a shadow toward Adam and Eve, a detail 
embodying a thought both poetic and prophetic. 
Mary, above, stretches out her arms to her Son, and 



ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 357 

points to the crowd below. Tn the distance is seen a 
procession on which falls a great shining. 

Coming out into the Piazzetta, glancing across the 
shimmering lagoons, along the sunny lengths of the 
Riva, and beyond to the azure line of sky dropping 
to the Lido, we remembered that it was there, from 
between the two great pillars, that the Doges em- 
barked for the ceremony of wedding the Sea. It was 
a gorgeous procession, led by standard bearers, her- 
alds and trumpeters: following came ambassadors 
with their attendants, the Canons and Patriarchs of 
St. Mark's, secretaries and chaplains; the Insignia of the 
State, the silver candelabra, ducal coronet, and chair 
covered with gold cloth were borne by squires before 
the Grand Chancellor; and finally appeared the 
Serene Prince, the Doge, the ombrella carried over his 
head. During the embarkation, bells rang, trumpets 
sounded, and guns boomed. The Bucentaur, magni- 
ficent with decorations of gold and arras, the stand- 
ards floating at her bow, glided slowly away, over 
the lagoons, "steered by the high admiral." Official 
gondolas followed, and behind them came all Ven- 
ice afloat. Passing the point of the Lido, the Bu- 
centaur faced the fair open Adriatic; bands played, 
the forts thundered salvos, the bell-towers of Venice 
and the islands near, all joined in with their brazen 
tongues, the people rose and bared their heads. The 



358 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

Patriarch of Venice standing beside the Doge blessed 
the wedding ring, — onyx, malachite and lapis-lazuli 
set in gold, — and gave it to the Doge; an attendant 
priest poured holy water into the sea, and into the 
ripples the Doge dropped the ring, saying, "Sea, we 
espouse thee, in sign of true and everlasting dominion." 
The festivities ended with banquets and a ball at the 
Ducal Palace. From the banquet of the workmen of 
the Arsenal every man was at liberty to carry away 
whatever had served him at table, drinking cup, nap- 
kin, knife and fork, and the like. 

Crossing the Piazza our attention* was attracted to 
a picturesque group at the well on the north side of 
St. Mark. This well may be exempt from the usual 
municipal restraints, for we have never seen it closed. 
Our group consisted of a youth leaning upon his 
bucket poised on the edge of the stone curb, chatting 
with a young woman who was so interested that she 
had thrown her kettles and yoke upon the pavement. 
A 'second young woman stood by, her kettles al- 
ready filled, for her yoke was adjusted to her shoul- 
ders, the ends balancing perfectly, and in her hand 
she held her little coil of rope; she was ready to de- 
part, but was held back by the desire to keep the 
other company. Both were handsome, but evidently 
of different conditions, for one wore the white head- 
gear with the fold hanging down the back, and a 



st. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 359 

large white apron, while the other had about her 
a fringed shawl, and her magnificent hair was held 
up by silver darts. We had already seen gather- 
ings at other wells, — those of the early morning be- 
fore the wells were unlocked, but none that were so 
beautiful as our trio-group. 

Near by, the Clock Tower, gleaming with blue and 
gold, sent out its bronze Vulcans to strike the hour, 
and we repaired to the sort of triumphal arch that 
forms the support of the tower, whence opens one of 
the principal streets of shops, the Merceria. Here 
we found Venetian gold-work and mosaics, lace and 
rings, and so-called antiquities, fans, armlets and a 
soltana such as the Venetian women of the sixteenth 
century wore while bleaching their hair, — and above 
all, and loveliest of all, a variety of Salviati's glass, 
most exquisite in design and wonderful in color. Of 
photographs there was no end, and there are none so 
beautiful as those seen in Venice, either in quality of 
print or in the matter of subjects, the latter being 
generally Venetian waterways reflecting all objects, 
animated life of the rivas, picturesque barks and 
gondolas, and the noblest architecture in the world. 
On our homeward way we stopped at Santa Maria 
Formosa, to take a look, for perhaps the twentieth 
time, at Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara, a superb 
creature for saint or woman. It is claimed to be a 



360 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

portrait of his daughter, the beloved of Titian. Oiu 
gondola was left below, on the other side of the canal 
that we might cross Ponte del Paradiso, and see its 
entrance canopy, the most exquisite bit of architec- 
ture in Venice. 

One must visit the suburbs if he would understand 
the city; in this way Venice is incomplete without 
Torcello. There shines, in all its effective, pictorial 
intensity, that peculiar light in whose heavenly ex- 
cess of radiance Venetian painters sought their tints. 
We embarked from the Fondamenta Nuova on one of 
the finest days of the finest month in the year, to 
row far away over the northern lagoons to the 
ancient mistress of Venetia. At one moment our 
gondola seemed to glide among clouds, the next to 
be set between piled-up emerald banks, then to en- 
counter waves leaping to kiss the heavens, and again 
the heavens coming down to embrace the earth. 

Torcello is fitly called " the old, worn-out mother 
of Venice ; " we found her stranded on a low sand- 
bar, a skeleton bleaching in flood and sunlight. She 
was begotten in the troubled times of history by 
refugees. Attila invaded Altinum driving thence 
many of the inhabitants. Two hundred years later, 
another invasion left it deserted; a small band whc 
ascended the city tower, " beheld a vision of boats, 
ships and islands," and taking this as their leading, 



ST. mark's, the ducal palace, and torcello. 361 

directed their course seaward, and took possession 
of the island of Torcello. Now there are a few 
gardener's and fishermen's huts, a curious old cathe- 
dral, and alongside, leading down to the water's 
edge, delicious grassy spaces, such as are seen only 
in Italy. Since the town was never invaded, at 
least not till later years, and then only by debris and 
m alana, it is hard to tell why a stone arm-chair in 
front of the cathedral is called " Attila's Throne." 
A lofty campanile commands fine. sea- views, and from 
it, probably, the inhabitants used to watch for the 
advance of Vandals who never came. The cathedral 
and other structures are low, as if they wished not 
to attract the eye of enemies to their refuge. Its 
exterior is devoid of ornament except the portals, 
but the interior has some tender attempts at beauty, 
mystical mosaics, marble pulpit and choir-screen, and 
Corinthian columns with finely wrought capitals, 
which one may reach with the hand, so low is the 
roof they support. A delicious stillness filled th 
little campo, not that of simple quiet or melancholy, 
but an inarticulate gladness of unclouded weather, 
occasionally interrupted by a slight tremor in the 
air, and the clamor of children. The children, some 
tumbling, others scampering, over the soft grass, had 
the gift which Nature seldom denies their race. 
They were the most brilliantly beautiful little mor- 



362 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

tals imaginable; shapes of perfect grace, with eyes 
of liquid light and color inherited from sun and sea. 
Correggio must have come here for his models, for 
they might have been taken for cherubs stolen out 
of his pictures. 

Keturning in the late afternoon we met gondolas 
with black flags, carrying the dead to San Michele, 
the bearers wore scarlet robes. Cries of a sea-gull 
rose out of the waste of distant waters, and there 
was a beating of wings, but the sphere of our im- 
pressions had no place for either despondency or 
forebodings. The dead should sleep well at San 
Michele in the shadow of the church, with the sea 
singing its eternal lullaby. "The sea is His and 
He made it ; " and beyond was the dry land, and the 
city all aglow in the western sunlight. 



XXXI. 

THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND 
THE LIDO. 

Venetian palaces are magnificent in size, with 
delicately sculptured marble fronts, regularity broken 
by differing heights of stories and open loggie, and 
have a sameness of internal arrangement of broad 
halls, spacious stairways, and suites of rooms open- 
ing on either side. Their outward forms, and the 
conditions of their sea- worn footing, are as expressive 
of domiciliary security and haughty inaccessibility, 
as in the proud days of the old aristocratic Eepublic, 
but the luxury of their appointments, splendor of 
service, and brilliant state assemblages have dis- 
appeared with the opulence of which they were the 
product. The facade architecture of the elegant, 
graceful structures overlooking the Grand Ganal 
is best seen from a gondola, the walls rising sheer 
from the water's edge. Leaving the lagoons one 
glides past the Dario, its front inlaid with circular 



364 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

disks of many colored marbles, and the Contarini 
Fasan with fine columned balconies supported by 
superbly sculptured corbels; it is pointed out by 
gondoliers as the house of Desdemona. Afterward 
appears the beautiful Lombard Manzoni, and Corner 
Ca Grande of the Conaro family, with the lovely 
courtyard that has served as a model in so many 
pictures. Then we have the Cavalli, the Rezzonica, 
belonging to the Infante of Spain, and the Contarini 
Serigni, the great wealth of the Contarini being in- 
dicated by serigni, which means " money chests." 

At the terminus of the first reach of the Canal 
is a noted group of palaces, the Foscari, and two 
Giustiniani. The first recalls the touching story of 
Doge Foscari and his son Giacopo. Here the widow 
of the Doge surrendered his remains to Venice for 
"sumptuous obsequies," repentance and remorse for 
the causes of his death having overtaken the State. 
The Foscari added a story to their palace after it 
came into their possession, thus it is the largest of 
the three; all have pointed water-gates, delicate 
Gothic windows, and fine spacious balconies. One 
of the Giustiniani was grand enough to lodge a 
king in 1574, Henry III. of France. These palaces, 
occupying the angle or turning point of the Canal, 
command the longest and clearest vistas each way, 
one reaching to the lagoons and the other beyond 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 365 

the Rialto. It was here that the Republic enter- 
tained foreign princes when the Grand Canal was 
the scene of State festivities and ceremonies. From 
a Giustiniani balcony one of our party witnessed 
the ceremonies of a happy day in modern Venetian 
history, when Victor Emanuel took possession of 
the city, and later, in 1868, the return of Daniel 
Manin from Exile, his remains being delivered to 
his countrymen from the Bucentaur at the steps of 
the Ducal Palace. 

Turning into a side canal where handsome palaces, 
lovely carven water-gate heads, and a sea-deep still- 
ness challenged surprise, a few strokes and long 
intervals, skillfully managed by our clever gondolier, 
finally brought us to the church of the Fran. It is a 
Gothic structure with interluding Eenaissant orna- 
mentation, of seeming magnificent dimensions, and 
having ceiling vaults covered with particularly beau- 
tiful groining. It is famous as the burial place of 
many illustrious persons, and for the grandeur of 
several of its mortuary monuments, which are piled 
one above the other, till some hang high over the 
heads of worshippers. In the foreground of the 
nave, on either side, are the tombs that most inter- 
ested us, — that of Titian, near which rests all of him 
that was mortal, erected by the Emperor of Austria, 
and opposite, Canova's, said to have been designed 



366 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

by himself" but executed by his pupils. We are 
sorry to consider it representative, and cannot believe 
the inscription originated with the artist. The cost 
of it was shared by England, France, Germany, Italy; 
and America had a small hand in the matter. It is 
the face of a great white marble pyramid, with an 
open door toward which advance Atlas and Eudora; 
near are two genii, one with an extinguished torch 
who sleeps, while the other laments, — the signifi- 
cance of the winged lion, his paw resting on a book, 
we could not comprehend. Titian's monument is a 
sort of portico, within which sits the painter sur- 
rounded by allegorical statues and reliefs taken from 
his works, yet in marble expressing little of their 
real beauty or purpose. In these monuments one 
feels the inexorable limitations of Art, the finite 
attempting to deal with ideas that touch the borders 
of the infinite. It would seem as if something origi- 
nal and pertinent might have been said; but they are 
simply curious symbolical compositions, the one cold, 
pretentious and far-fetched, the other polished and 
bedecked, but, like the former, barren of all individ- 
ual thought or feeling beyond the common level of 
life. 

From a porch in the rear of the Frari one reaches 
the campiello and School of San Kocco, the latter 
not an educational establishment, but the house of 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 367 

a Venetian "Temporal Work of Mercy." Here, on 
the walls, Tintoretto worked for eighteen years. Of 
his large pictures the most remarkable are The An- 
nunciation, The Adoration of the Magi, The Mas- 
sacre of the Innocents, The Baptism in Jordan, and 
a portrait of himself at the age of sixty-six. In the 
Baptism there is an added tone of intensity, fertility 
of imagination, and vision of prophecy, that is start- 
ling; one feels that he has reached the utmost limit 
of Art. In the Sala dell' Albergo is Tintoretto's 
most celebrated work, The Crucifixion, covering a 
wall forty feet long and proportionably high. There 
are several scenes beside the principal and central, 
Christ on the Cross, at the moment of His "Eloi, 
Eloi, lama, sabachthani" cry, which sustain the im- 
pressive, tragic harmony of the whole with their 
crowding incidents, variety of forms and tints, and 
broad lights and shadows. There are groups of wo- 
men, some weeping, others, swooning, executioners 
with the light falling across swollen veins and mus- 
cular tendons, and their implements, axes, wedges, 
and ladders. The separate groups of the two thieves 
are corresponding notes in the theme, as are also 
the accessories of indifferent spectators, cavaliers, 
horses in rich trappings, priests, crossbowmen, and 
grave-diggers. There are in all eighty figures put 
in movement at the base of a mountain, the summit 



368 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

touching a chasm of light, and against a gloomy, 
earthquake-darkening sky. One's interest grows into 
excitement while he looks, and he goes away sorrow- 
ful and bewildered. These marvels of the mightiest 
of Venetian masters are dimmed and stained with 
seams and damp and blackness; soon they will be 
but phantoms, telling us even less than they do now 
what manner of man he was. 

Again afloat on the Grand Canal, there were in- 
numerable palaces of illustrious memories, and fine 
architectural appointments, facades with porphyry 
medallions and Greek pillars, Gothic windows, and 
Byzantine borders. Before each door white marble 
steps lead down to the water, and great wooden 
posts painted with various colors, standing like senti- 
nels, serve as moorings for family gondolas. Through 
archways came snatches of songs, and the voices of 
children, while now and then we caught glimpses 
of vines and blossoms peeping over a garden terrace. 
Soon we descried the splendid span of the Eialto 
with its clothing and jeweller's shops. Eialto is a 
contraction of Rivo alto, meaning the other side of 
the river, and was the only bridge crossing . the 
Grand Canal till within comparatively a few years. 

"In the Eialto you have rated me 
About my moneys," 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 369 

refers to the quarter and not the bridge. In the days 
of the Eepublic the neighborhood was the center of 
mercantile life, the fine palace, the Fondaco dei 
Tedeschi, being the meeting-place of German mer- 
chants, who through Venice trafficked with the 
Levant, and the other, the Fondaco dei Turchi, was 
the place of commerce with Musselmen, the focus of 
Oriental life and praises of Allah in Venice. 

The Market Place near the Rialto abounded in 
splendid hues and unusual picturesqueness. Shops 
were in tasteful expectant readiness, and none were 
more attractive in fanciful arrangements of forms 
and variety of color than the fruit and vegetable 
stalls. Distributed among them were models for al- 
tar-pieces, — young women carrying beautiful infants, 
— St. Joseph repairing a disabled stand, St. Johns 
buying limes and oranges, and several St. Peters 
bargaining for fish; if one might judge from the 
noise and confusion, trade was brisk. Gobbo with 
his column looked on quietly, wondering perhaps 
what had become of the statutes that used to burden 
his back during their reading. At the little wharf 
were boats that had brought vegetables from Maz- 
zorba, and lace-makers with their goods from Bu- 
rano; also fishing crafts with their painted sails from 
Chioggia, the sailors strong in speech and full of 
energy. On the stone edge of the wharf lay a small 



370 A NEW TREAD IX AN OLD TRACK. 

mite of a fellow fast asleep: as he was a rosy, curly- 
headed blonde, beautiful as if just out of Eden, we 
fancied he belonged to one of the Chioggote boats, 
and gently rolled him into the nearest, over which 
he was already impending. If it was not his place, 
he dreamed there more safely than on the water's 
brink. 

Among the many pilgrimages that we made in 
Venice, not the least interesting was that to St. 
Maria di Scalzi, the resting-place of the last Doge 
of Venice, Ludovico Manirij who died of a broken 
heart, falling down while taking the oath to Austria. 
"Manin Cineres " is the simple epitaph on his tomb. 
Winding through the narrow, crooked, and dirty 
canals of the Ghetto quarter, we came at last into 
cleaner waters, purer air, and a pleasant breadth of 
sunshine in the grassy little campo of Santa Maria 
dell Orto. The interior of the church is very lovely, 
seems to have been dreamed out of reverent love and 
faith. The marble shafts, the sculptures, and the 
traceries of transoms, are exquisite ; in the front are 
two Gothic windows of incomparable beauty and 
richness. The sacristan pointed out the tomb of 
Tintoretto ; we were obliged to accept his authority, 
since the name on the slab was anything but Eobusti. 
Diligent search revealed no trace of the tomb of the 
daughter, Marietta Eobusti, by whose side he wished 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 371 

to be buried. She was a portrait painter of great 
merit, and so necessary to her father that he refused 
her to all who would take her away from Venice. 
Beyond the church open the lagoons, a broadening 
stretch of brightness and an infinite horizon. Tin- 
toretto lived on the Fondamenta dei Mori, and Titian 
on the so-called Nuova. In their day there were fine 
gardens on these Fondamenti, and glorious outlooks 
over the sea. 

The brightest campo in Venice is that where the 
equestrian statue of Colleoni confronts the facade 
of S. S. Giovanni e Paolo. The statue is an actual 
portrait of the noted condottiere on his stout war- 
horse, and is truly a magnificent work. The church 
is light Italian Gothic, with broad aisles, round col- 
umns, and a general glare of whiteness, somewhat 
softened by age and smoke of incense. The monu- 
ments are grander even than those of the Frari, one 
having not less than twenty-five figures, of nearly 
life size, and yet there is no crowding; another is a 
mass of marble towering from pavement to ceiling, 
a sort of curtain in front of which are statues of the 
commemorated deceased, all as ugly as they should 
be for a monument so devoid of taste. The finest 
tombs are sarcophagi with recumbent figures above, 
usually original and national in that they are life- 
like portraitures. One in every way noble and beau- 



372 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

tiful is that of Doge Tomaso Mocenigo, wrought by 
a Florentine, but thoroughly Venetian in character 
and feeling. In the Chapel of the Rosary was Titian's 
celebrated St. Peter Martyr, burned in 1867; it has 
been replaced by an indifferent copy. Another fa- 
mous picture, one of Giovanni Bellini's altar pieces, 
was also destroyed. We have sought in various 
places the works of the " sweet and solemn master," 
but found the most beautiful, the gem, in St. Zaccaria, 
a "Madonna Enthroned with Saints." He painted 
Madonnas to harmonize with Christian emotions, but 
never forgot corporeal beauty. His personages af- 
firm that they are copies from life, so closely do 
they resemble local realities in all traits ; as a colorist, 
in his own manner, he is unapproachable, but he dealt 
with no mysteries, no subtle plays of light and shadow. 
He painted what he felt and saw, miracles substantial 
to touch and eye. 

The Riva degli Schiavoni is a broad, crescent-shaped 
quay, paved with large flag-stones ; shops, cafes and 
barracks on one side, and on the other a line of ship- 
ping, San Giorgio and the Lido. We should have 
built the palaces here, fronting this superb outlook 
over the lagoons, that from our own marble roof-tree 
we might have watched spectacles of sea and sky, 
dissolving views of flickering tints in superabundance 
of sunshine, and seen Galleys and Indiamen under 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 373 

full sail coming in from beyond the great walls. The 
Venetian patrician was not of our mind; he preferred 
the security and seclusion offered by narrow water- 
ways, better content to come out in his gondolas for 
sights and sounds of the open lagoon; and to the 
Eiva as a promenade for sunshine on winter after- 
noons. There is nevertheless, no want of variety on 
the Biva; we met Turks turbaned and solemn, then 
a Greek in white petticoat and gold embroidered 
jacket, and Chioggiote and Sporade sailors, and learned 
that Phrygian scarlet is finer in cotton than silk — 
more picturesque. There were also dignified inacces- 
sible Englishmen, blonde, inquiring Germans, incred- 
ulous, flippant French, and Americans, the last not 
to be characterized by one of themselves, but they 
preponderated in numbers if in nothing else. Crowd- 
ing upon the footways were numerous trinket shops 
under great umbrellas, brown cloaked peasants, either 
sitting or prone upon the pavement, basking in the 
sunshine, the beggars having taken as their own 
belongings the steps of bridges, where they were more 
exclusive and surer of their prey. We noticed among 
the would-be fashionables that there was nothing 
strictly Venetian but color in costumes. French 
modes, forms, laces, bows and fringes, were seen 
everywhere; they regulate hat, train, jupe and man- 
tle, but are helpless to eradicate the true Venetian's 



374 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

instinctive love of brilliant lines. Paolo Veronese 
still lives in this vindication of him. 

At the end of the Eiva, and entered by a beautiful 
Gothic gateway, are the Public Gardens, the gift of 
Napoleon, who to make room for them demolished 
several fine old structures. The gardens are exceed- 
ingly formal, planted mostly with sycamore trees, 
but serve the good purpose of an airy rendezvous for 
the poorer classes, — groups of old women, and frowzy 
headed girls, beggars and soldiers, and vendors of 
water, fruit and fish, supplemented by local and 
itinerant organ grinders. The last, either to amuse 
themselves or for the laudable intent of getting our 
coppers, struck up the lively strains of a dance, 
which proved beautiful in purpose, acting as an 
inspiration for a band of young girls, who, taking 
each other by the hand like Guido's "Circling Hours," 
whirled over the grass, and up and down the broad 
walks, — laughing, glad improvisations of the simple 
poetry of motion. 

"With several other Americans we had been invited 
to visit the Cananclaigua, the United States war-ship 
lying in the harbor. Small boats, flying diminutive 
^star-spangled banners and manned by American sea- 
men, were sent to "fetch us." One never knows how 
much he loves his own country till he has lived 
awhile among strangers, and under strange flags. 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 375 

Having passed an hour very pleasantly, been shown 
the appointments of the ship, and stood once more 
under our own brave stars and stripes, we took leave 
of the gallant commander of the Canandaigaa, and 
were returned, not directly, but in the roundabout 
circuit of the Arsenal and Docks, to the Gardens. 
There we waited for the make-up of one of the most 
gorgeous sunsets that ever illumined either terrestrial 
or celestial things. The sun descending toward the 
western mountains kindled upon their summits fiery 
splendors. The line of the Guidecca, the Dogana's 
Hercules and high-held ball of Fortune, with the 
grand statues and graceful cupolas of Maria Salute, 
became fine deep-cut intaglios against glowing 
brightness. Nearer edifices, campanili, churches, pin- 
nacles and palaces, took hues of azure and violet, or 
tones of pale grays and ruddy browns, according to 
the depth of shadow in which they lay, while sails, 
spars, and masts of ships at anchor trembled in a net- 
work of golden scintillations stretched between sea 
and sky. Substantial forms seemed to have their foun- 
dations in the sea, where all were mirrored, as were 
also the cloud masses, piled in ranges of topaz, ruby, 
and amethyst, changeful and interchanging. Soon 
outlines grew less distinct, and depths more mysteri- 
ous. The city vaguely defined looked like a giant 
ship headed toward darkening unfathomable waters, 



376 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

where but a moment before reflections of the western 
conflagration had touched the blade of a wave, 
flashed the whirl of eddies, or made roseate a billow 
of foam. Finally all was lost in a mingling of forms 
beneath a quiet gently enfolding twilight, all but 
phantom visions, — caprices of the imagination flitting 
to and fro in the limitless. 

Presently five gondolas engaged for the evening 
came down to the Point, where we embarked, intend- 
ing to go to the Lido, and return with the tide by 
moonlight. We were quite a little fleet as we struck 
out from the shore ; before we left the lovely island of 
St. Elena, "the tender grave of a day that is dead," 
the moon came forth a soft golden gleam out of the 
vaulted canopy, and the tide, not idling by the way as 
we had, met us somewhat cityw r ard of Lido. Our 
slender crafts taking to its crest, floated back between 
two sapphire depths, the moon above leading our way, 
and below arfother moon seeming to lead a phantom 
fleet. In the waters, gleaming like a great darkness 
faintly and dubiously luminous, and the nocturnal air, 
mute but for the sound of breaking waves and the dis- 
tant roar beyond the Lido, there was a strangely sol- 
emn tone, as of a menace from the mighty power of 
the deep. Our gondolier, all mailed in moonlight and 
leaning upon his oar, was a very picturesque figure ; 
he might have added to any sentimental illusions by a 



THE GRAND CANAL, SOME CHURCHES AND THE LIDO. 377 

song, but did not. Gondoliers as a class have given 
up singing; even the "voice of Adria's o'er the waters 
sweep " is no longer heard. The city domes held aloft 
candelabras of crimson, jasper and agate, San Marco 
loomed up between two lines of flame, and Rivas 
hung out long garlands of lights, festooning with 
glitter arches of bridges and openings of canals; we 
floated on toward fairy -land, and the Piazza of 
San Marco. One glory difiereth from another, but 
far above all glories is that of moonlight upon the 
Adriatic, with her regnant city made so beautiful 
that it might be likened to the New Jerusalem seen 
in the vision of the poet of the Apocalypse. 

In Venice one forgets for a time the far-off main- 
land world of rattle, work and confusion, and begins 
to think of making it his home; for surely its fasci- 
nations can never grow less. Englishmen do some- 
times bring hither their household gods, set them up 
in the halls of a grand palace, and yield themselves 
to that joy-intoxication that finds everything Vene- 
tian beautiful and good. There is no place like Ven 
ice for beauty ; she is the pearl in Italy's chain of 
magnificent cities. Each day we have praised her 
forms, her color and her skies; revelled in the prodi- 
gality of her art, the gladness of her sun-flecked 
waves, and the richness of her stored archives; and 
each moonlight night we have told her of our love, 



378 A NEW TREAD IN AN OLD TRACK. 

— yet, after all, we long for green forests, a river's 
bank and broad meadows enamelled with flowers, — 
the sonnd of water tumbling over rocky beds, lake- 
lets caught in mountain sides and the cry of the 
eagle from his lofty eyrie crag. We go to find 
them in the Tyrol. 



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